


Descent

by luciferinmyhead



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 17:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 75,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13709148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferinmyhead/pseuds/luciferinmyhead
Summary: Ed has to put himself back together after being tortured for months on end by Envy, but how can he fix himself when he's still being broken by other hands?(Set after Brotherhood)AU where Envy never died)Abusive!Mustang, Parental!Riza PTSD!Ed





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote over three years ago, so please forgive how bad the writing is. *cowers*

They found Edward huddled in the corner of the barn, blindfolded and gagged, shivering and muttering to himself, arms wrapped around his knees, sobbing. He was bloody and bruised, and he looked like shit. It pained Hawkeye to see him like this, but she made herself keep her cool indifferent mask that was so like her. It wouldn't do for the other soldiers to see her without it. If they knew that she, the Hawk's Eye, was terrified, then the fear would creep into their own minds, and they would lose their on professionalism. And right now, it was important that everyone remain alert and on guard. Mustang's division was chasing the Homunculus Envy, but she knew there was always the chance he could give them the slip and double back to retrieve his lost prize. She told seven of the soldiers to surround the barn, to keep watch on all sides, and ordered four others to inspect the barn, to make sure there were no booby-traps. Edward flinched violently and let out a small squeak when they went in, and he hugged himself closer. Riza wanted to rush in and wrap her arms around the small boy. She wanted to comfort him, but she knew she had to follow the military protocol and check the safety of the area before she could.

Her subordinates gave her the all-clear, and she went inside, followed closely by 2nd Lieutenant Green. She walked as quickly as she could to Edward, and she noticed he clenched his fingers around his knees as she grew closer. She dropped to her knees beside him and he let out a yelp, jumping away from her. She touched his arm softly and he lashed out at her, striking her face and shuffling away from her. "Edward." She whispered, slightly shocked, and she reached out and pulled him into a tight hug, certain that he just needed to know that he was safe. But it had the opposite effect. He began to kick and thrash at her, screaming for her to let him go. She held onto him tightly, her motherly instincts kicking in and wanting nothing more to comfort him. He kept screaming and she realized he thought that she was going to hurt him. "Edward!" She said sharply, and he froze. "Stop that, Edward."She softened her voice now that she had his attention. "It's okay, Ed, it's just me. I won't hurt you."

"Hawkeye?" He whispered through the gag, sounding nothing less than disbelieving.

"Yes, Edward. It's me. I won't hurt you." She told him, and he relaxed at her words, moving into the embrace and becoming weightless. She held him tight for a few moments before turning him around so that she could take the gag and the blindfold off. He stiffened at the movement, but offered no resistance. She managed to gently and carefully untie the gag, and he sucked in a few deep breaths through his mouth at the release. But the blindfold was going to present a huge problem. It was tangled completely in his hair, and she wouldn't be able to remove it without taking chunks of his hair with it. She informed him and he didn't say anything, but she could tell it terrified him that he would have to remain unseeing until they could find a way to take it off. She noticed he was shivering with cold, and she shrugged off her heavy winter coat and wrapped it around him. He winced when it touched his skin, but allowed her to button it up. She decided they were done here. The sooner they got out, the better.

"Lieutenant Green." She said.

"Yes, sir!"

"Help me with him. We're leaving." She ordered.

"Yes, sir!"

Together they hauled Edward to his feet, despite him saying that he didn't need help; he obviously did. Hawkeye put one of Ed's arms around her shoulder, and her own arm around his waist, and the 2nd Lieutenant followed suit. Together, they helped Edward out of the barn into the cold night's air. The wind blew their hair around their faces, and Edward froze up at the cold, so that they had to practically drag him back to the cart. Cars didn't work in Drachma; it was too cold and the engines always cracked. The horse, a beautiful chestnut with three white stockings and a blaze on her face, whinnied as they carried Edward past her, and she nudged his side. He flinched but only a little. He stopped for a moment and reached one of his arms out, trying to find her face. She pushed her nuzzle into his palm and he stroked it, smiling. Apparently, Edward Elric had a thing for horses. Riza pulled him along and reluctantly he allowed her to, looking back longingly at the horse, or, at least, in her general direction. She whinnied at him and tossed her head, but remained otherwise calm. The wind began to pick up and Hawkeye could tell a storm was coming. She shouted over the wind for her soldiers to come back, and then she busied herself with getting Edward into the back of the cart. Once he was in, Lieutenant Green crawled in ungracefully after him and Hawkeye vaulted over the side to land softly beside Ed.

The driver clicked his tongue and slapped the rains over the horse's rump and they were off. After half an hour Hawkeye's storm made it's first appearance, and the horse began to pick up speed in her urgency to find shelter. Riza looked down at Edward, who was conversing with Miss Green. Or, rather, the Lieutenant was asking him questions and he was giving short answers. At one question, he froze up, and refused to give any more answers, or even to acknowledge that she was there. She looked back helplessly at Hawkeye, who shrugged and shuffled closer to him. She whispered his name to let him know she was there and then pulled him close. He rested his head on her shoulder and after a few moments, she felt his breathing even out and a soft hint of a snore escape his lips. She felt touched that he trusted her enough to fall asleep in her arms. She wondered how General Mustang had come along trying to find Envy. She hoped he'd caught the bastard. And she hoped he set fire to him. Riza Hawkeye wasn't usually one to encourage causing harm to others, but after everything the Homunculus had put her ex-subordinate through, she wanted him to feel pain. She didn't care how much he had done, she didn't care about the fact that he was renowned as 'hero of the people', she didn't care that he'd risked his life countless times to save the country, all she cared about was that he was a child. He was a child and he'd been tortured and that wasn't fair. The poor kid had never had what one would call a peaceful life, and now this had happened to him.

The wind became a blizzard, and the cart's driver was amazed how well the horse was doing not to panic. They could see the town on the horizon, but she feared that they weren't going to make it. The cart was beginning to rattle and Edward was twitching in his sleep, unconsciously grabbing at his leg stump, flinching when his skin made contact with the freezing cold automail. We're nearly there, she told herself, we're going to make it. But at that moment, a huge gust of wind, that had to be moving at several kilometers per-hour, hit the cart, tipping it sideways and breaking the shafts, setting the horse free. They all fell into the deep snow, and Edward flew out of Hawkeye's grip and landed too far away from her. She tried to crawl through the snow, but the wind was too strong, and it had suddenly changed direction, pushing her further away from him. The snow blew in her face and she couldn't see, and she could feel her body shutting down to protect her from the cold. The winter coats they'd all brought with them were supposed to prevent this exact temperature drop, but she had given hers to Ed, so the only thing protecting her now was her military uniform, which was less than useless in this weather. "Edward!" She tried to call, but her voice was lost in the rushing wind. The other soldiers didn't seem to notice that she and Ed were stuck, they had all crawled together and were huddling in a bunch behind the remains of the cart, which provided them with a break in the wind. She could see them, but they couldn't see her. She tried commando crawling toward him, but her elbow slipped on the snow and she fell on her face.

And then, out of nowhere, something had grabbed hold of the back of her clothes and was half-lifting her off the ground, even if it was only a few inches from the ever-piling snow. It pulled her to the direction of Edward, and it only took a few extended moments for it to reach him. It dropped her and when she looked up she realized it was the horse! She let out a bark of laughter. In all the commotion she hadn't given the horse a moments thought, but now, as she did, she would have figured it had run off. But no! Here it was -here she was-, laying down in front of Edward, becoming an immediate break in the harsh wind. She sat close to him, allowing her hot-blooded warmth to keep him warm. Riza followed suit and crawled next to him, wrapping him in her arms and shuffling closer to the mare, because she knew the horse could provide so much more heat than she. He shivered but snuggled into the horse's thick, shaggy fur, making himself cozy, all whilst still asleep. Riza snuggled closer to him, doing her best to keep him as warm as possible, but also being thankful that the movement also made her warmer as well.

The blizzard lasted throughout the night and through most of the following day, and, when it ended, Riza vowed that she would keep that horse forever. She owed it both her own life and Edward's.


	2. Chapter Two

When Edward woke, he was surprised to be smelling the typical smells of disinfectant associated with hospitals. He could hear people bustling around, pencils scratching on clipboards. He could hear the sound of several people's breathing around him, and, with extreme difficulty, he opened his eyes. He had to blink several times to adjust to the bright light, and when he could see clearly, he turned his head to one side. He was looking directly into the eyes of Winry. Tears filled her eyes and she launched herself onto the bed he was laying on. The sudden movement made him flinch violently, out of some newly developed instinct, but he hoped she wouldn't notice. She was gripping his shirt in her fists and crying into his chest, and, with difficulty, he gently wrapped his arms around her. While she cried on him, he looked around and saw the rest of the people around him. On the same side as Winry had been were his brother Alphonse, who was smiling gently at him, and Mai. She was still small and childlike, but he could tell that in the months since they'd seen each other she'd grown quite remarkably. She was now almost as tall as Winry. Maybe Xingese kids had particularly quick growth spurts.

On his other side were three faces he really didn't expect to see. The first that caught his attention was General Mustang, who was gazing at him with unseeing eyes. It made him feel warmer that he was taking time off work to visit him in his hospital bed. He was also surprised to see Colonel Hawkeye there. She was watching him fondly, with a worried yet, at the same time relieved, look in her sherry eyes. He vaguely remembered her saving him from solitude in the barn, and he remembered falling asleep with his head resting on her shoulder, but everything past that point was blank. He didn't remember anything since falling asleep. He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep, or even where he was. He was pretty sure they were no longer in Drachma; even in the hospitals it was always cold in Drachma. Right now it was toasty and warm, a feeling he'd severely missed since being kidnapped. In any case, he would have to thank her for getting him out. Obviously, since he had fallen asleep, they'd found a way to get his blindfold off. For that he was thankful. It occurred to him that he had stopped paying attention to everything around him and had been venturing in fairy-land. He pulled himself back and began to examine the third person.

Her raven black hair was still cropped military short, and her blue eyes were focused sharply as always on whatever she was watching. She was as short as ever, and she still had that trademark mole under her left eye. 2nd Lieutenant Ross smiled at him when she noticed he was watching and he smiled back. He pulled his arms back and Winry slid off of him. But not before giving him a kiss. On the lips. He blushed furiously and felt his heart rate accelerate and he could see a faint hint of pink on her cheeks as well. Her face was streaked with tears and she looked a lot thinner than she had when he'd last seen her. He would have to ask her about that later, because it wasn't the kind of, 'I went on a diet and lost some fat' kind of thin, it was the 'skipped far too many meals and haven't eaten enough' kind of thin. He hoped it wasn't because of him. He remembered when Winry had found out her parents had died. The same thing had happened. Even as a young child, she had been too depressed by the news to remember to eat, and she had become painfully skinny. Granny Pinako had never been able to convince her to eat, and after two months had passed since they had received the news, Winry had needed to be rushed to hospital and put on an IV because her body wasn't getting enough nourishment. The hospital had had to pump the necessary vitamins through needles in her arms, and she'd had to be sedated while they did it. He hoped that she wasn't doing it to herself again, because he didn't think he could stand having to watch her lay unconscious in a hospital bed, with needles in her wrists, and tubes in her nose and down her throat. It had made him sick as a child, and he didn't think it would make him any less sick now.

Winry was too beautiful to have to go through that again. As he watched her, taking in as fast as he could her precious blue eyes, her ray-of-sunshine blonde hair and her shapely face that was nothing less than perfect, those pink lips, he realized that those pink lips were moving. She was talking. How was it that he wasn't hearing her talk? He contemplated that for a moment, thinking perhaps he was deaf. Why didn't that bother him? He simply didn't care, but he hadn't the faintest idea why. That was something that a person should be concerned about, being deaf. Not hearing what people were saying when they were talking to him. Yes, definitely something to be worried, just the same as a person would worry about being mute or blind. Blind, that was something he really didn't like. It was an almost tangible pain, not being able to see everything around you. You never knew what was coming. You never knew where the danger was. Danger was everywhere, but blind you couldn't see it, didn't know which direction it was coming from. And then it hit you, right on the side of your face, and you flinched away, yelping in pain and surprise as your cheek burned fire-like because Envy had punched it. Where is he? He thought, panicked. He was here. Probably right beside him, but then, he felt the rush of air on the same side so he braced for another whack to the left cheek and was caught by surprise by the knee to the right eye. He cried out and felt stars burst behind it but he couldn't see anything else. The blindness was terrible, he couldn't tell whether or not Envy was going to hit him again.

Where was he, dammit? Was he still on his right, or had he moved to the left? He could hear the wind rushing around the walls of the barn, and he could feel the cold of being without decent clothing. The smell of spilled chemicals was thick in the air and it was suffocating. He had given up on being found. Mustang wouldn't care anymore. What reason did he have to? Edward wasn't part of the military anymore. He wasn't Mustang's subordinate any longer, so Mustang didn't owe him any kind of protection or rescue or any of it. Once Envy had run off with him he'd probably thrown his hands in the air and said to himself, 'well, we tried. Let's go home.' and returned to Amestris. And even if he'd chased a little longer, even if they found him, what would they do with him now? He was a wreck. He knew it. Envy had ruined him. Destroyed everything that he was. He wasn't Fullmetal anymore. Despite having given up that particular title the year before, when he had traded his alchemy for Alphonse, he had still been widely renowned as Fullmetal. No longer the Fullmetal Alchemist, just Fullmetal. The name still did fit, after all. He still had his automail leg. But he couldn't call himself Fullmetal anymore. That would imply that he was still the brave, confident, honorable person that he had been. The person with the resolve to help make things better. But that person was gone. He wasn't brace, he jumped at every noise. He wasn't confident, he wished nobody would ever have to look at him again. And he could hardly be honorable, could he? He was useless, pathetic, how could he be an honorable person if he couldn't help any of them. He was betraying them by being so weak, and you couldn't be an honorable person if you were a betrayer.

Envy broke his thoughts by slamming what had to be a brick into his arm, and Edward jumped and tried to get away. He flailed around in the bed and Envy grabbed hold of his arm and he screamed at him "Get away!" and miraculously Envy's hand left his arm and he kept trying to create distance between himself and the person who had been torturing him and he felt a sharp slap to his face and one word. "Fullmetal!" He froze and looked around, but he couldn't see anything. The blindfold was squeezing his eyes shut but basic instinct tried to open his lids anyway and light flooded his eyes and then all his senses came back into focus. He could smell the antiseptics again, which in his lapse in time focus, he had mistook for spilled chemicals. He could hear the breathing of the people around him that he had thought was the rushing wind. The cold he had felt was the window that had been opened by Mai, who looked stricken at him. Alphonse was right beside him, one hand holding Winry's and the other gripping tightly on the railing of the bed. He was staring, bewilderingly, at Edward, who was still coming to grips with the sudden change of surroundings. Winry was holding her hand, which was flaring red, and Edward wanted to vomit at the realization that, in his state of panic, he had hit her. She was shaking and not saying a word. He looked quickly away, deeply ashamed. Lieutenant Ross was watching him, unbelieving, and Roy was frowning deeply, because though he couldn't see what Edward had done, he would surely have heard it all.

But it was Hawkeye that he was watching intently, wishing he could back away into the depths of the bed and never come out. Her furious glare was making his inner coward tremble in fear, and he was suddenly aware that it had been her that had snapped him out of his hallucination. Her voice had broken him out of his memory, which was also like both a dream and a lie. It was both real and unreal, a mixture of dream and reality. Of truth and nightmare. The numbness began to creep over his mind, and the antiseptic turned into wasted chemicals once more, and the breathing of his friends became the wind of the Drachman storm. He lost all feeling of warmth and all that was left was the familiar cold that meant he was in that accursed barn. But no. He wasn't. How could he be? The cold barn he was unable to see didn't have Hawkeye's cold gaze in it. It didn't have that feeling of deep shame for hurting Winry. The warmth flooded in once more, and the smell of hospital antiseptic hit him like a wave. The wind returned to it's true form; the breathing of his friends. And he opened his eyes and Riza was still there, staring intently down at him. He forced himself to calm down, and that infuriating heart monitor he hadn't even noticed before slowed it's beeping until his pulse was at normal speed. Hawkeye smiled at him and suggested that perhaps everyone leave for a few moments while she had a few words with him. They all agreed, Alphonse the most reluctantly, but eventually he decided that the Colonel wouldn't have asked him to leave if she didn't have a good reason, so he allowed Mai to pull him from the room. The door squeaked closed and Riza stood up, and then sat back down again, but on his bed.

"You need to tell me, Edward. What's wrong?" She asked kindly, her soft voice soothing. But Edward, though he knew he was weak, knew that he would never be anything but wrong, still tried to deny it.

"Nothing. I'm fine." He murmured, averting his gaze from hers and finding a fascinating speck of dust on the bedsheets to stare at.

"You can't lie to me, Ed. I know you're not fine. And, after what you've been through, you certainly don't have to be just yet, but you can't heal if you don't tell someone what is wrong, because you and I both know that what just happened wasn't normal." She insisted, but with the same calm, quiet tone, that suggested she had infinite patience and would ask all day long if she had to.

"I'm telling you nothing's wrong!" He persisted. She smiled at him, sliding off the bed and into the plush hospital chair she had been sitting in before. She scooted closer to the bed and rested her elbows on the edge, because for whatever odd reason that particular side didn't have railing. Now that he could get a closer look, he could see that she had dark rings under her eyes and she was exhausted. Her usually neat, short cropped hair was wild and very clearly a few inches longer than she normally kept it at. Apparently she hadn't cut it in a while. She had looked good with long hair, he thought. And when she had it pinned up at the back of her head it had always had this look about it that said 'don't mess with me, I'm badass.' But after the Promise Day, the day everything had changed and become new, she had cropped it short again, saying that she always preferred it that way. He realized he was allowing his mind to wander again, and he quickly departed that particular train of thought before it left the station.

"But, are you okay?" He asked her. She gave a short snort of laughter.

"I'm perfectly alright, Edward. You don't need to worry about me."

"Are you sure? You don't look okay, Colonel." He badgered, trying to keep the topic away from him. And, also, out of genuine concern for her.

"I tell you, I'm fine." Her tone suggested that she wasn't going to be discussing it any more, so he switched to a different angle.

"What happened? The last thing I remember is falling asleep on your shoulder in the horse cart." He tried.

Hawkeye looked relieved that he was going to try to talk about what had happened to himself. "After you fell asleep," she began, "a storm hit us and overturned the cart, and I lost you in the snow. It was thick and I couldn't see. But the horse, you remember her? You petted her nuzzle." Edward gave a brief nod and she continued. "Well, she grabbed the back of my uniform and practically dragged me to you, and then she lay down and created a windbreak for us. She stayed like that throughout the entire storm, and when it finally stopped, she wouldn't leave your side. Luckily, a search party had a spare horse and cart with them and we managed to load you onto it. The horse trotted along beside you the entire time. The whole way back to Amestris. I have her lodged in a stables at the edge of Central city. She's looking forward to seeing you."

Edward became aware of a sudden and burning need to thank this horse. But first...

"Thank you, Riza."

"Huh?"

"You got me out of that barn. You brought me back here. You saved my life, so thank you." His eyes began to fill with tears at the thought of where he would be if she hadn't found him. He couldn't stop them, and soon they were flowing freely down his face, and he tried his best not to be ashamed of them. But Riza didn't appear to care. She lifted him up in her arms and hugged him. And he cried and cried and she held him, never letting go. And he was glad she didn't.


	3. Chapter Three

The very next week, Edward was deemed fit to leave the hospital. He was ecstatic to leave the smell of antiseptic and death, which, for some disturbing reason, Edward had discovered recently it had an almost tangible smell to it. Death smelt like...death. It was difficult to explain, but it certainly was not a pleasant smell. It burned through your nose and down your throat and into your lungs, and it made you feel like you were about to die yourself. Edward was not going to miss it. But, the fact that he had three days to leave was going to prove to be a nuisance. He was no longer part of the military, so he couldn't stay in the dorms, and the military hotel was hardly a place for permanent residence. Besides, it was much too expensive. The reason this was a problem was because the doctors had said that, for the next few months, they wanted to keep him close, just in case something went wrong and one of the more serious wounds reopened. But Edward knew the real reason. They knew he was weak. They thought he couldn't make it on his own. They thought that he would break if the wind was strong enough, or if he bumped a table or became lost in his thoughts for too long. Well...they were right on the last part, but Edward would never, ever admit that! He knew very well that when his thoughts wondered off too far, his eyes would close of their own volition, and then the flashbacks would begin. His senses would twist what was around him and turn them into reminders of everything at that damned barn. He would think he was back there, and it was difficult to get him out of the trance. So far, the only person able to do it was Hawkeye. She was the only person who could break into his hallucinations and pull him out of them.

It was confusing. He -and everyone else- thought it would have been Alphonse or Winry who would be able to break him out of his waking nightmares, but no. It was Colonel Riza Hawkeye. Permanent personal assistant to General Roy Mustang, the blind man. Perhaps that was why. She had personal experience in helping Mustang organize what was real and what was not, so she would know how to do the same for Ed. Or maybe it was because she had been the one to save him from the barn in the first place. She had been his first real comfort in months. So maybe he had formed some sort of bond with her. He hoped it didn't bother Winry too much. But it probably would. He was, after all, her fiance, and surely it would upset her that she wasn't able to comfort him as well as another woman could. Edward knew that if their positions were reversed, and it was Mustang who was the only person who new how to comfort Winry, he would not be anything close to happy about it. But, he also knew, their positions weren't reversed. It was he who had lost an important part of himself, not Winry, and it was he who needed the only person who knew how to pull him back. And at least it wasn't some total stranger. That would be pretty odd. He liked Riza. She was nice, and she'd always known how to handle any situation without allowing anything to blow out of proportions. She was always the calm one. Out of him, Mustang, even Alphonse. She had always kept her cool. Only once was she ever known to have let her guard slip. And that was when she had believed that Lust had killed Mustang. Everyone knew that they loved each other, in their own silent, not-so-secret way, and Edward had never blamed her for allowing everything to slip just that once. He would have done exactly the same thing. As much as he fought with Mustang, he had always felt a certain sense of loyalty and friendship with the older man.

As he had the thought, Mustang walked through the door, his unseeing gaze locked in Edward's general direction. Edward knew Mustang had learned to count his steps and listen to the sounds around him to determine where he was going at any one time, but it had to be extremely hard. He was just lucky that he was still in the Military, really. Although, Grumman made an excellent Fuhrer. He was kind and actually cared about the well-being of his people. And he was always generous to Mustang, who he had been close friends with for several years. He had personally spent several thousand dollars to pay for everything Mustang needed to learn to live with his blindness and recuperate from all his injuries from the Promise Day. As he watched the blind man make his way to the chair Edward had been reading in, he realized that his lips were moving, and he shook his head to clear it, and asked Mustang sheepishly to repeat what he had said.

"I said," The General laughed, "That we need to figure out where you're going to stay. The doctors won't let you out of Central, and you don't have enough money to buy your own place. Winry already checked for you." Edward was about to make a suggestion -screw the doctors- when Hawkeye waltzed in, looking a little bit annoyed.

"General, with all due respect, we've been over this already. I have a solution." She said, her voice sounding a little harsher than it normally was.

"And I've already said no. I won't allow it." Mustang snapped. Ed sank a little into his chair. He didn't like this. It was just plain wrong. Mustang and Hawkeye never fought like this, at least not that he could recall. He wondered what they'd been talking about.

"How about we run it by Edward before making decisions for him?" She spat back, and again, Edward sank a little lower into his chair, the book he'd been reading long forgotten. Her head turned to him, and he gulped.

"Wh-what is this...uh...solution you have?" He mumbled, just loud enough for them to hear.

"Edward, I know you may not like this, for more reasons than one, but I think it would be best if you stayed in my apartment for a while." She said. Edward was rather too stunned at the suggestion to respond, so she continued. "Alphonse and Mai had to leave Xing abruptly and they both have business to return to there. And your fiancee, Winry, has quite a few customers at Resembool who need repairs, so she needs to get back as well. And then there is...I'm afraid there is just no other way to put it, Ed, your hallucinations." Edward cringed, because he knew she had raised several good points. "We both know that, for whatever reason, I am the only one who can pull you out of them, so perhaps it would be best if we were close by. Since you left for Creta, I have purchased an apartment that is quite larger than my previous one, so there is plenty of room for you. And Winry, when she visits. Well, Ed, what do you think?"

It took Ed several moments to respond. "I...I guess you're right. About everything. But...I don't want to inconvenience you, Colonel."

She just smiled. "It wouldn't be any inconvenience at all, Ed. With my particular set of military duties, I am quite able to work at home. And I'm hardly going to grow broke feeding you. You'd be surprised how much a Colonel's paycheck exceeds a Lieutenants'. She laughed at that, and Edward had o crack his own smile.

"It would be nice, I guess. But...I'm not sure what Winry would think..." He trailed off, not needing any further explanation.

"Miss Winry has already told me that she thinks it's a good idea. Don't worry Ed, she knows nothing will happen. Unlike a certain General I know." She muttered that last part under her breath, and Edward was only just able to hear it. So that was why they were fighting.

"Okay, Colonel, I think I'll take you up on your offer." He said.

"No. As your superior officer, I forbid it, Colonel Hawkeye." Mustang spat. Hawkeye glared at him, furious.

"General Mustang." She said stiffly, through her teeth, "I am afraid I cannot obey that order. There is absolutely no reason for you to refuse the idea, and if you can suggest a better one, go ahead."

Mustang hesitated.

"That's what I thought. Edward, if you're ready, we can leave now." She said, her voice softening when she spoke to him. He looked from her to Mustang, hesitated, then nodded, standing up from his chair and returning the book to it's correct place on the shelf. It took him a few moments, because, he'd become bored earlier that day and arranged the entire shelf in alphabetical order of titles, so when he located the 'T' section, he slid it in and turned back to his bed, picked up his small little rucksack of things (new clothes {bought by Winry} and toothbrush {Bought by Alphonse}) and followed the Colonel out of the room. Just as he went through the door, he felt someone fist up the back of his shirt, and he turned to see Mustang glaring down at him. Despite being blind, his gaze was absolutely spot on, and Ed felt a shiver run down his spine at the cold look in his eyes. He didn't understand why Mustang was so objecting to this idea, but he knew he wasn't about to find out any time soon. His thoughts quickly returned to the cold black eyes, and he shoved Mustang's hand away.

"Yes?" He asked quietly.

"I'm warning you, Fullmetal." Mustang growled, low under his breath. He new that Edward had specifically requested that no one call him that anymore, because he felt he could never live up to it anymore, which was why Ed knew Mustang had used it. He tensed and waited for him to continue. "If anything happens to my Colonel, I'll kill you. Understood?"

"I'm not gonna touch her...Flame." He added as an afterthought. He knew that would piss Mustang off because he couldn't use flame alchemy anymore now that he was blind. Mustang growled again, but shoved past Edward and headed down the hall, in the opposite direction to where the Colonel had gone. Edward hurried to catch up with her. She was waiting behind the next corner, and Edward noticed, but didn't mention, that she was putting a handgun back into it's holster. He hoped with all his heart that she'd been doing nothing more than inspecting it. They walked together out of the hospital, and Riza held the door open for Ed in a gesture that was kind, but only succeeded in making Ed feel like they all thought he was too weak to even open a door by himself. He thanked her nonetheless, and forced a smile to go with it. He stepped outside and froze. The air was freezing. It was winter, and the snow was swirling around lazily, flakes catching in his hair. A violent shiver went through him, and involuntarily his eyes closed for a moment.

The barn was always cold, he knew, but it seemed extra cold today. Envy must have left the barn's door open when he'd left him here to die, because Edward could feel the snow rushing in and prickling on his face and exposed skin. He shuddered and tried to wrap his arms around his chest to preserve warmth, but he was too weak from cold and hunger and pain and he couldn't lift his arms. He let out a strangled sob because he was too weak to even try to warm himself up, and felt a warm hand place itself on his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold and tensed, waiting for the pain that was inevitable when he was touched. Envy must have tricked him. He must have come back to hurt him some more. Another sob escaped him and he waited for the punch or the hit or the kick that Envy would plant on his burning skin just because he could. He heard Envy whisper his name, and he realized something was wrong. Envy never called him by his name. It was always Pipsqueak or Runt or Pathetic or Weakling, but never Edward. But who else could it be? Mustang had given up on him, knowing he wasn't worth the energy to save surely. Alphonse had better things to do. And he had Mai. Why would he need his miserable gibbering heap of a brother when he had that beautiful girl that could do more for him than Ed could now? And Winry. She was beautiful. She was far too good for Edward. He didn't deserve her. Maybe, in his past, in the time where he existed as a man worthy of her, but not now. How could he ever be worthy of her now? He was a mess. A wrecked, pathetic mess. She would find someone else. She would find a man worthy of her beauty and ingenuity and her brilliance. He knew she would.

He heard his name again and knew something definitely wasn't right. Who could it possibly be? Who was saying his name? Who was speaking to him? The voice was soft, and kind, and so unlike Envy's. It was feminine, but it wasn't Winry. Maybe a soldier had found him? But they would soon see. They would see that he was weak and pathetic and a mess and they would leave him there. They probably wouldn't even bother reporting the find to Mustang. He wasn't worth it anymore. They may as well just leave him here. He wasn't worth the time or the money or the energy saving. What was the point?

"Edward!" The voice was harsher now, and Ed felt a sudden burning need to know who it was. He knew, deep inside his heart, that when he opened his eyes he would see nothing but the pitch black Hell that his blindfold provided for him. He would see darkness. This burning need would go forever unsatisfied, but he had to try. Because it would be yet another wound to his already destroyed alchemic curiosity if he didn't. So he struggled against the blindfold, and his eyes fluttered open.

And he remembered where he was.

He wasn't in the barn. He was in Central. He was standing just outside the hospital, with Colonel Hawkeye, and she had just pulled him, yet again, out of another hallucination. He felt his cheeks go a deep shade of crimson, and, ashamed, he found something suddenly fascinating on his shoe that required intent studying. "Sorry, Colonel." He muttered, knowing that he would appear snobby if he didn't either thank her or apologize. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her smile a little at him. Not mocking him, as Envy had always done. And not pity, as he had come to expect recently. It was affection. He could see it. He wondered how she could possibly hold such an emotion for such a lowly human that he was, but then, she had always been such a kind woman. To his knowledge, she had never relished anyone's pain, or encouraged slaughter or mock or even unnecessarily harmed anyone ever. She had never been cruel to him, or anyone, and he knew she never would be. She had a kind heart.

"Please, Ed." She said. "If we're going to be roommates, you might as well call me Riza."

He lifted his head and smiled at her, nodding. He forced back the residual fear the hallucination had left him and they headed towards a waiting car. They climbed in and sat in the comfortable leather seats. Riza gave the driver her address and he put the car in gear and they drove off. It was warm in the car. A little too much so. It made him feel drowsy, and the temptation to close his eyes and fall asleep was heavy. But he resisted. He didn't want to fall into the nightmare of his past and think he was still there. He was safe, he knew he was. But when his eyes closed the part of his brain that should know that important fact scurried off, and suddenly he was back in the barn. The dark made him think he still had the blindfold on, made him think he was blind to the world around him. And when he was blind he couldn't tell the difference between past and present. He feared sleep now. Avoided it like the plague at night. He would stay awake for hours, for as long as he could, keeping his eyes wide open. The hospital had caught on to this and supplied his room with a night-light. That had helped him avoid the nightmares even when awake, because even with his eyes open, the pitch black of night sent him back to the barn, and it terrified him. But, eventually, his body would reject his determination and force his exhausted body into sleep, and the nightmares would begin. But, in the morning, Riza was always there to wake him up.

The car stopped outside a large apartment complex and Riza nudged him out. He shook his head to clear away the foggy edges that had appeared while he'd been lost in thought, and shuffled himself out into the cold. He shuddered, but forced his eyes to stay wide open. Riza led him into the building and up three sets of stairs, and then took out a key and opened up her door. She walked in first and held it open for him to follow, and when he was in she shut it and locked it. He looked around. The foyer was plain, just tiles and white walls, with a few pictures of who Ed knew to be Riza's father, and one of someone who must be her mother. Her mother was rather pretty, with blonde hair the exact same shade as Riza's, and the same sherry-coloured eyes. Their facial structure was remarkably similar, and she was looking nice in a periwinkle dress. Riza allowed Ed a few more moments of observation before leading him on into the rest of the apartment. She was right, this was certainly bigger than he last, which had been nothing more than a conjoined living room and kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. This was huge. The living room was twice the size of her previous, with a set of comfortable looking couches and chairs. There was a wide table in the center of the room, sitting in front of the main couch, and underneath Edward could see several board games. There was a chess set still sitting atop the table, with pieces scattered across it as though someone had left halfway through a game. She had a radio perched on top of a little bedside table, and it was currently not plugged into the power socket on the wall underneath. She had several vases of flowers scattered around the room, all of them looking fresh. There were roses, petunias, lilies, blossoms and lilacs.

"Roy gave them all to me." Riza said, apparently noticing the look of curiosity he knew had to be plastered on his face. "He's been coming around a lot," she continued. "He visits whenever he has the time. He even spends the night occasionally, which is why I bought a bigger apartment, so he wouldn't have to sleep on the couch anymore."

Edward wasn't really surprised to hear it, but he still had to ask, for the sake of curiosity. "Mustang spends nights here?"

Riza nodded. "Yeah. He gets a lot of nightmares about his time in Ishval, and more than ever since you went missing. He doesn't like to admit it, but he hates being alone. He used to call and ask if he could come around. Now it's gotten to the point where occasionally I'll wake up and cook breakfast for myself, and he'll appear out of the guest room and ask if I could make him some too." She glanced down at Edward, who was feeling like he was hearing something too personal. "Don't worry Ed, it's not complete secret. His immediate subordinates know about it," she, of course, meant Havoc, Breda, Fuery and Falman, "but, please don't go around telling people. He doesn't need things like that reaching the general public."

"Of course not. My lips are sealed." He promised. "But I think it's nice that you two have reached that level of trust, if you don't mind me saying" He added.

"Not at all. I agree." She said. "Now, how about I show you where you'll be sleeping and then I'll make dinner, okay?"

Edward nodded enthusiastically. He was eager to see the rest of the apartment, and food sounded wonderful. She led him down a narrow corridor and opened the second door to the left. She showed him in. It was a plain room, with nothing but a bed and a bedside table with a lamp on it, and a set of drawers for clothes. "this is your room, Ed." Hawkeye told him. "You can put whatever you want in here, posters, books, anything you like. I don't mind. The room across from this one is mine, and the first door, the one we passed, is the guest room where Roy sometimes sleeps." They left the room and she gestured to the door at the end of the corridor. "That's the bathroom." They walked back into the living room and through another gap where a door aught to be, and came out into the kitchen. "I'll start making dinner. Feel free to unpack your things and wander around the house." And with that, she pulled out a bunch of ingredients and set to work.

Ed did as she suggested and emptied out his clothes into the drawers, and put his toothbrush in the bathroom. He decided that after however long it had been, he needed a shower, and helped himself to the hot water. She wouldn't mind, he thought. He stripped his clothes and stepped into the shower, which was just a square room with blurry glass walls and a shower curtain on the outside. He turned on the 'hot' tap and instantly burning hot water sprayed from the shower jets. It was painful at first, but after a minute or so it cooled down ever so slightly, so it was hot enough to sooth his stiff muscles but not too hot to burn him. There was a bottle of shampoo on a rack and he washed his hair, and a bar of soap, which he rubbed onto a clean cloth and washed his skin with. He stayed in the shower for a few minutes, enjoying the hot water running down his face and his back, but he didn't want to waste all of it just in case Riza wanted a shower too, so he turned off the tap and stepped out.

After drying his hair, skin and thoroughly drying his auto-mail -damn, it was nice to have Winry's model back on instead of that lousy Drachman crap he'd had to deal with- he wrapped the towel around his waste and tiptoed to his room, where he put on fresh clothes. He left his hair loose around his shoulders and strode back to the kitchen, where Riza was dividing the now cooked food onto two separate plates and setting them on the table. He thanked her for cooking for him and dug in. "Enjoy the shower?" She asked, showing just the barest hint of a smile.

"Yeah. Hope you don't mind." He replied.

"Not at all." She said. "You can't live here and not shower."

"Thanks." He said, and they both were quiet, neither knowing what to say. After dinner, Riza went to bed, and so did Edward. He didn't let himself sleep that night, though. He had had a wonderful night, and he didn't want to ruin it with nightmares. The shower, the dinner, talking with Hawkeye, it all felt so nice, and he never wanted the nice to end. He wasn't sure exactly what tomorrow would bring, but he felt, deep inside, that it would be good. It had to be. He had a home, and company, and it made him glow inside. So he stayed awake all through the night, with the lamp on, smiling the whole time. The next morning, he waited until he could he could hear Riza walking through the house before getting up himself. He was tired, but he felt great. Everything that was happening to him right now was wonderful, and he hoped everything would stay this way.


	4. Chapter Four

Ed got dressed and headed out into the kitchen, where he found Riza putting bacon and eggs on the frying pan. The bacon sizzled and the sweet aroma bacon always created floated around the room, making Edward's stomach growl. He bade her good morning and she did the same. He sat at the table and waited for the food to be finished, not really sure what else to do. It didn't take very long for the bacon and eggs to cook, and she served it up on two plates and sat down opposite him, and gave him a knife and fork. He'd never really used cutlery to eat bacon or eggs, but, out of politeness and etiquette, he used them. They ate in silence again, and when they were done Edward offered to clean the dishes, just for something to do so that he didn't feel so useless. She must have realized and allowed him to do them without argument, and he was thankful. Normally, when you were in someone else's home, they would clean he dishes, because it was their house, but he was still trying not to feel to much like he was taking advantage of her, even though she had offered and insisted. If nothing else, he could at least wash plates and forks. He reached over the table to collect her plate and cutlery, and pulled them over to himself, piling them over his plate and standing up to take them to the sink. As soon as he stood fatigue and dizziness washed over him and he swayed on the spot for several moments, waiting for the little patches of light in his vision to dissipate. When they did, he recovered his form and moved slowly to the sink, filling it with boiling hot water and dish-washing liquid and grabbing the scrubber from the hook it was hanging from above the sink.

"Ed?" Riza asked from behind him. She sounded worried.

"Yeah?" He said, looking over his shoulder at her. Her sherry eyes were narrowed and her brow was creased.

"Are you alright?" She asked him, her tone soft but at the same time not leaving room for any ind of lie on his part.

"I'm just tired is all." He said.

"Didn't you sleep well last night?"

"I didn't sleep at all."

She was silent. He knew that she knew why that was, now that he had actually stated it out loud. "Okay." She said, after along pause. "Well, I might as well get some work done. When you're finished, would you like to play a round of chess?"

"Sure." He said, and returned his attention to the plates in front of him. He was too tired to clean them efficiently and quickly, so he took his time, slowly scrubbing circles over the grease left by the bacon and the trails of egg yoke. He could hear Hawkeye's pen scratching away on paper in the next room, and he gathered she must be signing things for Mustang. That lazy bastard, he thought, making Hawkeye sign his things for him. And then he remembered it would be hard to sign documents when you were blind, and he let it go. His thoughts returned to the previous day, when Mustang had been so harsh towards him, threatening him, and he wondered what that was all about. What could possibly have led him into believing he would ever hurt her? What reason would he ever find to hurt her? Surely Mustang had reason, but Edward wanted to know why. He went a little faster washing the knives and forks, and, instead of drying them with a towel and putting them wherever it was they belonged, he let everything dry out themselves on a dish-rack, and padded barefoot into the living room, where Riza was still scratching away with her pen.

He sat silently on the couch opposite her, finding it increasingly difficult now to keep his eyes open. He was, by now, used to being tired and sleep deprived, but it was beginning to take it's toll on him, and, despite how much he didn't want to close his eyes, he found his eyes drooping more and more as the seconds of silence passed by. He was glad when Riza finished with the document she was signing and put everything aside, taking out the chess set again and setting things up. They knelt on the floor and played a game, while Riza asked him simple questions like what his favourite food was and if he had a favourite colour and did he like music. Simple questions, but the right ones. He knew she wouldn't ask anything too personal just yet. It would be going too far to do that just now, but he appreciated that she was making a bigger effort than he to make conversation.

Throughout the game, the fatigue got worse, and he began to make mistakes. At one point he killed his own chess piece with one of Riza's pawns, and she gently told him what he'd done, and he'd blushed like mad and hastily returned the pieces to their previous positions, knocking over several of his own pawns and his knights in the process. Riza kindly suggested they play something else, and they ended up deciding on 'snakes and ladders', which was much simpler and easier for Ed to concentrate on. The hours passed by slowly, and, around lunch time, Riza caved in. "Edward, I now you don't like sleep, I know it's hard for you, but you're going to wear yourself ragged at this rate, and you'll make yourself sick." Edward was about to protest that he didn't need sleep, but she held up her hand and he kept himself silent, allowing for her to continue. "How about this. You go to sleep, and in two hours I'll wake you up. Does that sound fair?" Edward had to admit, it wasn't that terrible of a suggestion. He nodded, defeated, and stood up. He swayed lost his balance, toppling over sideways and smacking his shoulder on the table. He hit the ground and groaned. Riza offered her hand to help him up but he waved it away, determined to do this himself. Shaking all over, his shoulder on fire, he hauled himself to his hands and knees, and he grabbed the couch for support and heaved himself to his feet, putting as much weight as possible onto his hands. He waited for the dizziness to pass and slowly returned his full weight to his feet. His legs trembled under the weight but he dragged his feet toward the corridor, and struggled with his door handle. After a few tries it twisted and he almost lost his balance when he pushed the door forward. He staggered to his bed and collapsed on it, falling asleep instantly.

Envy was back, beating him bloody with what had to be a brick in his hand.

With every hit, Edward felt the rocky substance break his skin and leave deep, bloody gashes in its wake. Left, right, left, right, Envy hit him. Edward's entire body was alight with agony, and he could feel the warm blood flowing over his arms and his side. Ribs had to be broken. Another hit to his left side and he felt at least the crack under the massive impact. He screamed in pain and Envy's laugh echoed in his ears, which were ringing like a constant whistle. He heard Envy step to the other side and, with a last reserve of energy he didn't realize he had, he swung a punch. His fist hit Envy's muscled abdomen, and he growled like a wild dog. Ed's head exploded with pain and it took him a few moments to register that Envy had hit him with the brick again. He could feel blood flow from the new wound, and he couldn't hold back the strangled sobs that escaped him. He was on his side now, he realized, and he sensed rather than felt Envy kneel down next to him.

Suddenly, in quick succession, the brick crashed down onto his exposed side five times in a row, and he screamed as his skin tore open a hole with each blow. The blood gushed rapidly from the wound, and he knew he wasn't going to survive this one. He was dead, gone. As strong as he used to be what felt like an eternity ago, there was no way in Hell he could survive the wounds Envy had just inflicted upon him. With each passing moment, his lifeblood seeped from the wound and he began to lose his sense of hearing. The only thing he could hear now was Envy's piercing laugh, which rang out and echoed off of everything like a tolling bell. This is it, he thought to himself, I'm going to die, and the last thing I'm ever going to hear is that bastard's laugh. But now he could hear something else. A faint whispering. His name. A very faint whisper. It grew louder, until it was almost annoying. Until he had to see who it was. But he was blindfolded, he couldn't see even if he wanted to. Besides, even if the blindfold was off, the only thing he would see would be Envy's cruel face, laughing at him. But, in any case, at least seeing that would be something before he died. It would be stupid if he died and the last thing he saw was the inside of his blindfold. Even still, knowing that was all he would see, he opened his eyes.

He leaped from the bed, his face and neck lathered in sweat. His breathing was ragged and coming out on short gasps. He spun his head in each direction, panicking, needing to know who was there. Who was intruding on his nightmare. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was becoming dizzy as he searched around the room at lightning speed to see who had woken him. He nearly died with relief when he saw it was just Riza. She smiled at him and he tried his best to smile back, but he knew he was failing terribly. "It was just a dream Edward." She assured him. "You're not back there, and you never will be. It's okay. You're safe here."

He hated that she had to reassure him of this fact, hated that he was so weak that he needed her to say it, but he also felt a surge of affection for the Colonel that she was willing to say it. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he blinked to clear them away. Envy hit him with the brick again. He screamed and his eyes flew open, and acting upon pure instinct he grabbed at the wound, only to discover there was none. In that tiny split second, he'd had yet another hallucination. Gasping for breath that didn't seem to want to come, he looked back at Riza, and he couldn't quite make out the expression she wore. For several long, eternity-like moments, they sat in silence, Riza's gaze locked firmly on Ed, Ed's locked equally firmly on the bedsheets. He didn't want to break the silence, but he didn't want it to carry out, either.

"Edward. I know you won't like this, but I'm booking you a psychiatrist." She said.

"No!" He yelled. "I don't need some stranger's help! I'm fine!"

"No, you're not." She said firmly. "I know think you are, but you're not. And as much as you don't want a stranger's help, you need it. You can't keep yourself healthy like this. You're starving yourself of the sleep you need because you're afraid to close your eyes because every time you do, you're back there. In that Hell." With every word, her voice raised itself a little louder, until she was shouting. "You're making yourself sick, Edward! I know you don't want to accept help but you need it! You need the guidance of a professional who can help you to close your eyes without hallucinating! You need it! I know how hard it is to-"

"You know nothing about what I'm feeling!" He screamed.

"I've been through Hell too Edward Elric!" She screamed back at him, and he said nothing. She was beginning to scare him. He'd never, ever, seen her lose her cool like this before, and it was terrifying. He wanted to curl under that blankets and not come out, it was that scary. He could feel his body, his entire being, trembling.

"I've been through Hell too." Her voice was little more than a whisper now. "I know what it feels like to feel helpless. To feel scared. To feel like no matter what you do the pain will never go away. I was in a war, Edward. I killed people. You're right, I don't know what it's like to be physically tortured to the point where you begin to lose yourself. But I know what it's like to forget where you are. I know how it feels to close your eyes, and think you're back there, in your own personal Hell, where you feel like you can never escape. It feels like it's following you, like it lurks behind every corner, in every shadow. How the second you fall asleep, you return, and you're fighting again, you're hurting people, or people are hurting you, and it's like this inescapable void that you'll always fall back into, no matter how many times you climb back out. I know what that's like, Edward, because I've lived it.

"And I needed help getting out of it. Three times a week, I visited a psychiatrist. And, as unbelievable as it sounds, it helped. The void began to go away. I could close my eyes and not have to see everyone I killed. I could fall asleep and dream about sunshine and peace instead of war and death. Yes, those dreams still come back to haunt me every now and again, but that fact is inevitable. But, Ed, please let me arrange this for you. I'll put you on to the same man who helped me. He's nice, and he'll be able to help you. He'll be able to help the nightmares go away, and he can help you learn how to keep the hallucinations at bay. You won't regret it Ed. But if you don't do it, you'll never get over this fear. It will always be there if you don't let someone help you chase it away."

That silence was back. But only for a few moments this time.

"Okay." He said. "I'll go see this stupid psychiatrist, but only because I'm worried you'll shoot me in the foot if I don't."

"Thank you, Edward."

He almost fell off the bed when Riza's phone rang. She nodded to him and ran out of the room to answer it, and she was gone for a few minutes. He heard her raise her voice several times before she walked slowly back into his room, tears running down her eyes, a mixed look of shock and relief on her face. She dragged her feet walking to the bed, then, when she reached him, she dropped to her knees, and let out a few breathless sobs.

"Riza?" Ed said cautiously.

"They did it." She whispered.

"Who did what?" He asked, hesitant.

"Marcoh. He found another Philosopher's Stone, up North. He's about to give Roy his sight back."

They were both in the car and at the hospital faster than strictly legal, but Riza was in no mood for legality right now. She felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her chest. Roy was going to have his sight back. He would be able to see her! She had been grateful that Edward hadn't asked any questions afterwards. He had just grabbed a jacket and bolted out the door, waiting by the car for her to pull herself together and drive to the hospital. When they had arrived, they had both jumped out of the car and ran as fast as humanly possible into the hospital building. That was where Marcoh was going to do it, in case something went wrong and Roy ended up needing medical treatment. They ran to the elevator and Ed smashed his finger on the level three button, willing the elevator to hurry the hell up and go faster. It finally beeped and they ran out of it, their feet pounding loudly on the hospital floor. Their eyes scanned the room numbers, searching for Roy's. In their haste, they almost ran right past it.

They burst in the door and saw Roy sitting up on the bed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Marcoh was standing beside him, asking him if he felt any pain anywhere. His head snapped up when they came in and he smiled. "Edward," he said, "Come with me." Edward, frowning, went with Marcoh, and they left the room, leaving Riza and Roy alone together. "Riza?" He asked. "Are you there?"

"I am." She breathed.

"And no one else?"

"No, we're alone."

He heaved a sigh and asked her to stand right in front of his line of sight. Her stomach tightened and her breathing became difficult as she did what he asked, because, somewhere deep inside, she fretted that it had failed, that Mustang would open his eyes and see absolutely nothing. The seconds dragged out, and Mustang sucked in a great shuddering breath, and opened his eyes.

And he laughed.

It was a great, happy sound, and Riza's stomach tightened even more, waiting for him to say something. Tears filled his eyes and he wiped them away, looking into her eyes. "I can see." He whispered.

Riza felt tears spring in her own eyes, and the knot in her stomach unraveled in an instant. Without thinking, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, and she felt his own arms go around her, his head resting on her shoulder. He kept whispering, "I can see! I can see!", and she felt like the whole world was finally at peace. Like nothing would ever go wrong again. She leaned back and watched him for a moment, taking in his happiness. And then something happened that she would never have, in her wildest dreams, expected to happen.

He kissed her.

It was sudden. One moment, there he was, looking into her eyes for what, for him, had to feel like the first time ever, and then he'd leaned in and was kissing her. After that brief moment of shock, she realized what was happening. And she kissed him back. It felt like time itself had frozen, and the only things that existed was Roy and herself. After what felt like eternity, yet, at the same time, not enough time, he pulled back, tears in his eyes, and he said it.

"I love you Riza."

She didn't hesitate.

"I love you too Roy."


	5. Chapter Five

"I still say this isn't gonna help any." Edward grumbled as Riza drove him to his psychiatrist appointment.

"And I still say it will and you aren't wriggling your way out of it." Riza insisted, for the fifth time that day.

"Ugggghhhh, whatever." Ed muttered. They parked outside the building and Edward pulled his coat tighter around himself as he stepped out of the car. The day was cold and drear, the sky a miserable grey and and rain cold and chilling. He hurried to get under the verandah and waited impatiently for Hawkeye, who seemed completely unfazed by the rain, to follow. She showed him into the building and talked to the clerk while he waited in the waiting room, unconsciously tapping his foot. He wanted this whole business to hurry up an end, because he saw absolutely no point to it. When Riza came back, she told him to go up two flights of stairs, then enter room three forty one. He gaped at her, everything she said immediately flying in one ear and out the other. She sighed and showed him the way, walking a few paces ahead oh him. Because he didn't have to concentrate on directions, he took the time to look around at his surroundings. The walls were plain white -boring, and so was...well...everything else. There wasn't anything remotely interesting about the place. It almost felt like a mental asylum. Like he was in a padded room, just without the actual padding. At one point, he wasn't paying enough attention to where he was walking and tripped on a stair. His reflexes weren't fast enough and he hit his face on a stair before he could brace himself with his arms, and his head hit the stair with a sickening meaty smack. He saw stars behind his eyes and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut so that the headache could pass a little.

The pain was incredible. It was amazing how much being hit in the head with a brick could hurt. Even blinded, he could see stars behind his eyes. Envy hit him with the brick again, and he cried out as it struck him on the chest. Envy shuffled to one side and Edward whimpered pathetically, tensing his body and bracing for the impact of another brick. It struck him again, this time hard in the stomach, and Edward pitched forward and vomited blood through his gag. The hot liquid slashed up the side of his face and soaked through the thin material quickly and it made it sticky and disgusting. Another crack on the back -no brick this time, just his hand- and Ed wanted to cry. He could hear Envy's cruel laughter as he hit him with another blow to the ribs. He bit back a scream and instead whimpered again, cringing from Envy's now constant blows to the back. It became to much and he screamed, but Envy just laughed. Tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn't take this abuse any more. He couldn't take the pain. It had to end, one way or another. It had to. Envy hit him hard on the back of the head, and he lost his connection to everything, embracing the swirling black mass of unconsciousness.

And then the light came back, and he remembered where he was. The psychiatric appointment. He'd tripped on the stairs and hit his head. Riza was holding him in her arms, and he was grateful. She said nothing, smiling and helping him to his feet. He could feel the colour rising in his cheeks, and bowed his head, allowing his bangs to cover most of his face, so that it could only be seen from a frontward view. As they ascended the stairs to the second floor, he realized something. As much as he hated it, despised the very idea of it, he really did need this God damn psychiatrist. Even just admitting it to himself, the shattered remains of his almost non-existent pride took a serious blow, and shattered just a little bit more. He sighed and Riza's eyes flickered in his direction, but not for any more than a few seconds.

They reached the end of the stairwell and went through the door to the second floor, and walked down the corridors, counting the door numbers as they did so. Once they reached door three forty one, Edward froze, breathing in deeply. He changed his mind. He didn't need this. This was the last thing he needed, some random stranger knowing all of his secrets! He was fine, he could go! He didn't need this! He spun on his heel and went to walk back where he came from, but Riza's hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder and squeezed tight. He didn't look at her, just hung his head and tried to become invisible. "It'll be okay Ed." She said, and Edward decided that he ought to at least give it a go. He wouldn't tell the guy anything, he would just go in, sit down and pretend to listen to whatever ramblings the old geezer had in store for him, and make Riza happy in the process. She would be happy as long as he gave it a go, he reasoned. It didn't have to work. It wouldn't, he knew that much; there were just some things you couldn't forget. But he would try, because she wanted him to. He had a lot of respect and gratitude for his new roommate, and he was causing her enough inconveniences already, so he might as well let her boss him around a bit to try make up for it.

He nodded, turned around, and cast one last glance back at his friend, before opening the door and walking through.

The room was remarkably cheerful, compared to the rest of the building. The walls were a nice shade of blue, decorated with various charts and posters from different things. There was a vase of flowers sitting on a stool in a corner, and two black leather couches in the middle of the room. On the far wall, a man sat at a desk crammed full of papers. He appeared to be in his forties or fifties, judging by the grey colouring his brown hair. He was a relatively thin man, with no discernible muscle anywhere. He had a nice, warm, inviting face, and kind brown eyes. He was fairly pale, but Ed figured that's what you would expect from a man who sits inside all day talking with nutters. He mentally slapped himself. This was the same man who had helped Riza, and she was no nutter. She never had been, as far as he had been told. The man smiled at him, and Ed smiled back.

"Hi. My name is Wallace Smith. But you can call me Wally. And...your name is?" The man -Wally- asked. Edward knew that the man knew his name. He would have to, considering this was a scheduled appointment. But he was giving Ed the freedom to introduce himself. Ed found himself beginning to like this man already.

"Edward Elric, sir." He said. The man waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Ah! None of that 'sir' business! Call me Wally!" His voice had a friendly lilt to it. Ed liked that.

"Okay...Wally." He tried the name on his tongue, and found he quite liked the sound.

"Alrighty a seat Ed -do you mind if I call you Ed?" He asked.

"Not at all." Ed replied.

"Great! Ed, take a seat, and we'll talk then, shall we?"

Ed reluctantly sat in one of the couches, finding it rather comfortable. Wally sat opposite him, a broad smile on his face, and opened his mouth to talk. Ed figured he was probably going to start asking him questions about when he was in Drachma, but what came out of the man's mouth pleasantly surprised him.

"So, you know my old friend Riza do you?"

It took Ed a moment to respond. "Uh...yeah."

"How is she getting on these days?" He asked.

"Uh...okay I guess." Ed stammered.

"And what about that Roy Mustang character? I've heard a lot about him but I've never had the pleasure of meeting him. What's he like?"

"Arrogant." Was the first word that came out of Ed's mouth.

"Oh?" Wally asked, sounding curious. "How so?"

"He's so narcissistic. Always rambling on about how the women love him and about how he's so great, with his stupid flame alchemy. Back when I was in the military, a State Alchemist, whenever I didn't want to do something he'd threaten me. Hold something from my past over my head and threaten to tell all the higher ups if I didn't do what he said right now, or preferably, yesterday. He's such a jerk." Edward realized he was rambling, so he shut his trap, suddenly remembering that Riza was right outside and probably listening in.

"Really?" Wally inquired.

"Well..." Ed started. "He does have his, niceties, I guess. I mean, as much as he threatened me, he never actually did it. And...he helped me get into the military, I guess. And...I suppose he did used to give me time off so that I could search for the Philos- for the thing I was looking for." Edward amended. There was no way Wally could have missed his sudden change of direction, but he made no outward sign that he had noticed, so Edward continued. "So I suppose he isn't all that bad." He finished.

"He sounds like an interesting man." Wally said.

"Yeah, his flame alchemy is pretty cool." Ed said.

"Now, to the point of this session, how are you, Edward?" Wally asked.

Edward had been willing to talk to this guy, but the sudden turn of topics pissed him off, and he recoiled, turning his head to face the wall and setting his face into a scowl. "Mm fine." He said curtly.

"Are you, Ed? You went through a whole lot, from what I've been told. There isn't anything that's been bothering you?"

"Oh, so you know all about it, do you?" Edward raged, standing up from the couch and glaring down at the man who dared to tell him how he did or did not feel. "I suppose you know about the part where I was kidnapped in my own home town, dragged across the country, smuggled into Drachma, forced to bare the freezing cold temperatures without so much as a jacket, and then made a slave for some high-up bastard?" Wally made to say something but Ed didn't let him. "I suppose you know the part where I was whipped for hours on end just because I wouldn't tell the guy my age?" His voice was rising with every word, until he was practically screaming at him. "I suppose you know about how I was tortured by a Homunculus FOR MONTHS JUST BECAUSE HE FELT LIKE IT? I SUPPOSE YOU KNOW THE LAST BIT? THE BIT WHERE I finally LOST IT AND NOW I CAN'T EVEN CLOSE MY GOD DAMN EYES WITHOUT THINKING I'M BACK THERE IN THAT HELL?! HOW I'M TOO AFRAID TO SLEEP BECAUSE I CAN'T TAKE THE NIGHTMARES!? I SUPPOSE YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT THAT?!" Tears welled in his eyes and he spun on his heel and stood at the wall, resting his head on it.

"Edward." Wally said softly, rising from his chair and moving towards Ed. He put his hand on Ed's shoulder. Edward, who hadn't seen it coming, flinched violently at the contact, but didn't move away from it. Unknowingly, his body was trembling, subconsciously, his body was reacting to the constant fear of Envy's touch. He was okay with Hawkeye touching him, or Winry or Mai, but he couldn't handle a man touching him. Even when Alphonse had hugged him before returning to Xing, he had shaken at the contact. The subconscious fear was tripled now because Edward didn't know this man. Wally had to be seeing it. Or feeling it. There was no way that he couldn't, now that Edward was shaking so much. He wanted to run away. He wanted to swat this man's hand from his shoulder, he wanted to scream and cry and beg him to stop touching him, to leave him alone, to not ask him questions and to just let him be, but that would be weak. Weaker than he was already. And he couldn't take being any weaker. So he forced himself to stand as still as he could possibly be while shaking like paper in the wind. So he stood, and made himself listen to what Wally was saying.

"I don't know the full details about what you've been through. That's up to you whether or not you want to tell me. The most I know is what you've just screamed at me, actually. But that's okay. I know it must be hard for you, dealing with everything that's happened. And from what you just said, that's a lot. No one can expect you to just walk out of all that and just brush it off, that would be impossible. But that's why I'm here. I'm here to try my best to help you get through all that, to try and help you to find a way to overcome it, and, if possible, walk away from it. Riza was in the same way when she came in here. But we talked about it, and often, that's the best treatment. Just talking about it and getting it off your chest. And, hopefully, if you can do that, I might be able to find a way to help you push back the nightmares. Okay, Ed? Like I said, I'm not claiming to know everything you've been through, just that I know you've been through Hell. And I just want to help you get out of there, okay?"

Edward took in a great shuddering breath. "Okay." He whispered. He could feel sweat dripping down his forehead, and he wished Wally would just get his hand off of his damn shoulder.

"Now, Ed, you don't have to talk right away. We can get to that later."

"Thanks." Ed said, his voice not rising from a whisper.

"Edward. If you're not feeling comfortable here anymore, you can leave. I'm not going to force you to stay." Wally told him.

"Thank you sir." Edward choked out, dashing away from him and walking as fast as he could to the door. He went through it and slammed it shut, running down the hall, wanting nothing more than to get away. Hawkeye called out for him to wait, but he didn't listen. He just tucked his head down to his chest and kept running, until he reached the stairwell. He yanked open the door and dashed down, leaping down the stairs two at a time. He knew it was unnecessarily dangerous, but he just had to get out. He continued to ignore the cries of Hawkeye for him to wait up, and he ignored everyone else who tried to stop him. He just shoved rudely past them all until he was outside in the fresh air. It was still raining. He ran past the car and across the road, twisting his way through the stream of traffic. He was soaked already, but he didn't care. He didn't want to stop running now. The adrenaline was coursing through him and it was a feeling he hadn't felt since sliding down the mountain. It was a wonderful feeling. He ran past all the shops, past all the people. He kept running until he was well out of the district, choosing to stop when he was outside Central city. He would spend the night on the hills, under the trees, alone. He needed time to think. To cry, alone. He needed to be able to be weak, just for one night. He ran to the outskirts of town, never stopping for anything, or anyone. He feared he may have cause several traffic accidents, but that was too low on his priority list right now to make him stop. He shoved past people, animals, cars, everything. His lungs and legs were burning, and his throat was so dry he might as well have had nothing to drink for the past week. His left side was cramped up, but he pushed through it. Any moment, he thought, Hawkeye could catch up to me in her car. I can't afford to stop now.

After what felt like months of constant running, he finally pushed himself out of the suffocating city and made it to the surrounding hills. He allowed himself to slow down just a little bit -nothing more than a brisk jog- while going up the hill. The green grass was drenched with the rain, and so was he, and it was slippery going. At some point near halfway up the hill, his foot slipped on a twig of all things, and he found himself face down in slick, muddy grass. He pulled himself up and crawled on his hands and knees the rest of the way up, making sure to grab firm hand and footholds so as not to fall again. The rain poured down relentlessly and he soon found himself shaking with the cold. But he was used to that. After all, he was forced to endure freezing cold night after freezing cold day in Drachma. He could get through one lousy night of rain. He finally made it up the hill, and there was a thick screen of forestry. He could sleep under the trees tonight. If the rain cleared up, he could even climb one and break off a few small branches and pile together the leaves to use as a makeshift pillow. He trudged through the mud and set out to hide under the thick treeline. The trees here were huge, at least fifteen, twenty meters high. They had plenty of thick branches with other smaller branches branching off. The leaves were a dark green and were growing in plenty thanks to the heavy rains of late. The snowing season had passed several weeks, perhaps a month ago, so the leaves had had plenty of time to thaw out. He smiled up as the sun was blocked out by the expanse of green above him. Not much rain made it past the top of the trees, so it was relatively dry down here. He stripped off his soaked coat and shirt and lay them over a low hanging tree branch to dry. His pants weren't that wet, so they could stay on.

By a combination of chance and luck, the rain stopped completely roughly five minutes later, so he waited a few minutes for the slightly damp bark to dry some, picked a tree with plenty of climbable branches, and hoisted himself up. He had never been afraid of heights, so he climbed almost to the top, selecting the easiest branches to snap off that also had an abundance of leaves, and sent branch after branch hurtling to the ground. An idea struck him a quarter of the way through this process, and he also snapped off dry and dead branches whenever he saw them. When he had collected as much as he could reach without falling out of the tree, he slowly, carefully, climbed back down. He picked up the scattered sticks and branches and pulled them all into two huge piles, keeping the dead sticks and the leaved branches separated. He set to work at constructing a simple triangular hut, taking two of the longer sticks and crossing them over near the top, then doing the same with two other sticks, all while keeping a firm grip on both. Then he took the longest stick of all and lay it horizontally across the two sets of crossed sticks, keeping everything balanced and upright. Then, he took the rest of the sticks and leaned them diagonally against the top stick, to form a relatively hole-less wall. He did the same thing on the other side and stood back for a moment, admiring his simple, yet inventive, design. He allowed himself a small smile before setting to work at covering the walls and one end with the branches that were thick with leaves, to create a type of curtain to block out some of the cold and potential rain, hooking curves and splits on other sticks and occasionally, if it fit, the top stick itself, so that the thick curtain of leaves covered both sides simultaneously. Then he gathered up the remaining leaves and ducking carefully under the gap at the front, spread them across the floor to cover some of the not-yet-entirely-dry grass. He cautiously exited and had a quick look around the forest, his eyes scanning and eventually finding what he'd been looking for; shrubbery and moss. He yanked the softer, thicker ones out of the ground and put them at the head of the inside of his wooden tent thing, to create a makeshift pillow.

Once he was satisfied that he'd thoroughly solidified his little hut, he stepped back and found a sturdy tree a few meters away to lean on.

It was time to do what he came here to do.

 

Edward thought about everything that made him feel weak. Everything that made him weak. The dark. He could no longer close his eyes without traveling backwards in time to the place where he had been beaten senseless. Every time it became too dark, or he closed his eyes or he slept or he blinked for too long, his mind would confuse the situation with the blindness of the blindfold, and suddenly he was...there. He could no longer tell the difference between dream and reality. He truly and honestly believed he was back there. His senses would warp what was around him and find a way to relate it all to that Goddamned barn. People's breathing turned into the howling wind. A touch turned into punch. The warm would become pain. The sweat became blood. The light through his eyelids became the stars behind his eyes. People's voices twisted themselves into Envy's cruel jeers and taunts and mock. His eyes would stay closed, and he would have no way to escape.

He was afraid of men touching him. He couldn't handle having other people's hands on him, if they were male, because his body made the connection between them and Envy, and his body would shake with terror purely out of habit. He would sweat and tremble, and he would be so embarrassed because he knew it wasn't Envy. But his abused skin didn't know that. Somehow, it could tell the difference between a male's and a female's touch. But it couldn't tell the difference between Mustang's skin or Envy's. It couldn't tell that it was Brosh, or Havoc or Breda or Fuery or...or Alphonse. He trembled at the touch of his own brother. It was miserable and pathetic.

He flinched at any noise when he couldn't immediately see where it came from. He flinched if someone touched him suddenly, like he had on that first day of consciousness when Winry, his fiancee, had embraced him. He flinched when something was too loud or too close and he flinched when it was suddenly too cold.

He was, all in all, completely pathetic, and he had to change that.

Now.

He cried.

He allowed himself to cry for as long as necessary. There was no rain throughout that night, so he stayed outside his little hut for hours, crying his weakness away. With every tear shed he made a promise to himself. This would be the last time he ran in fear. This would be the last time he flinched. The last time he cried. No more trembling. No more cowering. No more needing the assistance of others to wake him from his pathetic nightmares. He would become stronger. He would fix his broken mind, even if he had to allow others, like the psychiatrist, to help him along the way. He had always done things on his own, always refused any and all help from anyone when he thought he hadn't earned it. Equivalent Exchange. You can take only what you give, and if you haven't given, you can't take. His whole life, that was how he had done things. But over the past few months he had forgotten that rule. He had allowed himself too much help without giving enough in return. Mustang had lead the search party that had saved him. But what had he given Mustang in return? Squat, he realized. There, right there is a debt I need to pay. Riza had taken him into her home. What had he done for her? He'd done a few loads of dishes. More to pay off there, way more. Alphonse and Winry and Mai, they had all worried over him when he'd been missing. They had sent there hearts out to him. What had he given to them in return for there love and worry? He'd given them pain, that's what. His own brother was too afraid to touch him because of his own fear. And Mai wouldn't allow herself a luxury that Alphonse couldn't have. Winry couldn't do anything except sit there, because she was scared that if she touched him again he would flinch the way he had done the first day. That was a poor exchange. They were all poor exchanges. Too many debts, he decided. Too many people he owed. Too much take and not enough give.

He was going to have to fix that.

First off, he would pay back his debt to Mustang. He was going to thank him again for helping save him. And he would help him with the rehabilitation he needed now that he had his eyesight back. And maybe he would help Mustang pay off a few of his own debts while he was at it. It wouldn't be anywhere near enough to repay him for what he had done for him, but it was a start. A good one, he thought. Next off he would have to earn his way in Riza's house. He would do more for her. He would make sure he kept the house spotless, he would keep the flowers watered. He would wash her car and use some of the money Hohenheim had left him to pay rent. And he would walk himself to his psychiatrist appointments. It was easy walking distance, so there was no point inconveniencing Riza by wasting her fuel and hours she could spend working.

For Alphonse, he would get the Hell over his fear of being touched by men, so that, sometime soon, he could give his brother a hug that wasn't laced with trembling and fear. For Mai, he would research all the Rentanjutsu he could, and invite her to stay one day. He could give her his research, because, chances were, as much as she knew, there were bound to be some secrets she was yet to learn. And Winry...well...he would do everything in the world for her. He would get over his fear of noise and the cold. He would marry her. And they would travel together. Wherever she wanted to go. Any place she deemed fit.

He would make things right again. He was determined to, at any cost. He vowed he would do so.

His decision made, his oath taken, he walked, wobble-legged, to the branch with his now dry shirt and coat, and donned both. Then he crawled inside his makeshift hut, lay his head down on the soft shrub and moss, and within minutes, fell asleep.

And for the first night since he had been rescued, he slept without a single dream to be found.


	6. Chapter Six

Alphonse was back in Xing. 

After his brother had been found, and his living arrangements had been decided, Alphonse and Mai had headed back to her home country to deal with a new web of crime that had sprung up in there absence. According to the report that he had been sent, there was a band of eight men using Rentanjutsu to kidnap and enslave children, or sell them to other countries as slaves. Slavery was strictly against the law in Xing, ever since Prince Ling Yao had become Emperor, but there were people who still made huge profits off of slave trading. And besides, anything that's against the law makes the job pay even more money. Ling needed help, he was too busy dealing in negotiations with other countries to look at it himself, and all his battle forces were already caught up in capturing a serial killer and mass murderer that had escaped from a neighboring country and into Xing, and was now killing by the dozens. So he had asked Mai and Alphonse to help out, and, of course, they had obliged. Not to mention it was a serious offense, but child slavery was so wrong. Alphonse hated it, and it was the only reason he had been so willing to leave his brother behind.

Well...the main reason.

The other one was...his brother was afraid of him. He knew he was, otherwise why else would he have trembled every time he gave him a hug or a pat on the back? It broke Al's heart to see his brother like that, and he knew he would be in safe hands, with Colonel Hawkeye.

Al's head snapped up as one of the slavers walked idly past his hiding spot. Alphonse silently cursed himself for not paying closer attention and focused himself. Mai was hiding in the bushes directly opposite him, on the other side of the clearing where the slavers where camped. In the middle, surrounding a large yet-to-be-lit bonfire, where the slavers' tents. There were four of them, each only just large enough for two men to fit in. A little way away were the children they had so far captured. There were fifteen kids, all tied at the wrists, ankles and necks. Each child was connected by a rope that threaded through a loop made at the neck ties, so that they all were connected, and not one could slip away without dragging the rest with them. It was simple, but effective. It was easy enough for one child to make his way out of the camp if they were all individually tied, because kids knew how to be silent when they wanted to be. But it would be a butt-load harder if they all tried to escape at once. As silent as they tried to be, fifteen feet moving out of sync all at once would make an alarming amount of noise. Besides, it was easy not to notice one missing child. A lot harder to miss them all gone. Alphonse reviewed the plan in his head one more time.

At sundown, when the slavers lit and huddled around the fire, Mai would sneak silently around the camp and place several shurikan on the ground in the pattern of a Xingese Transmutation Circle. Then, when she was finished, she would send Al the signal, and together they would both use their combined knowledge of Alchemy and Rentanjutsu to Transmute a massive cage around the slavers. It was a simple plan. But Alphonse liked it that way. Easier to remember, so less likely that he would make a mistake. He sat patiently in the shrubs, waiting for nightfall. It was only a few hours away, but already his muscles were beginning to cramp. Hopefully, everything would go smoothly and he wouldn't have to fight.

He barely noticed when it became almost too dark to see, and, for the second time that day, cursed his ill attentiveness. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mai give him the signal, and, without further ado, he clapped his hands together and slammed them into the ground. The earth where Mai had lain the shurikan began to crackle with red energy, and it sunk in on itself, then reformed, creating dozens of steel bars that towered into the air, eventually curving inwards and meeting in the middle. To top it off, a ring encircled them all, so the bars could not be bent outwards more than an inch or so. The eight slavers, now trapped, began to scream and shout and curse as Alphonse and Mai made themselves visible. One of the men inside quickly drew a circle in the ground and pressed it with his palms, and was completely shocked when nothing happened. Alphonse smiled. That little bit was the result of months of research he and Mai had undertaken. After all those months, they had found a way to combine techniques from Alchemy and Rentanjutsu together, so that nothing inside certain creations could be altered alchemically. It had taken Mai several days to invent this particular Transmutation Circle, and it was the only reason they needed the shurikan. Had they not known that one of the slavers was a Rentanjutsuist, Alphonse would simply have clapped his hands and made a regular cage.

Mai ran over to the kids and began to untie them. Alphonse, however, ran the other direction, fetching the horses they had left tied to trees several hundred meters away. He led them to the clearing and Transmuted a large horse cart, big enough to fit himself, Mai and the fifteen children comfortably. He made sure it was light, so the horses wouldn't have too much difficulty pulling it. The slavers, now prisoners, would be tied and tied again to rings he had made onto the cart, and they would walk all the way back to the Imperial Court, where they would be trialed, convicted and sent to jail the rest of their lives. If they were extremely lucky, though, they might be sentenced to work in the fields.

Alphonse sighed. Now that this was almost over -the Imperial Court was a mere two days from here by horse carriage- he would have nothing more to do than research.

He wondered if perhaps he should go and visit Edward? After all, it had been quite a few weeks since he'd left Amestris.

A little while later, back in Amestris, Winry was attaching auto-mail to a customer. As she connected the nerves to his hand -it was the full thing, just the hand- his face contorted in pain and he let out a short scream, which he did his best to bite back. His name was Jeremy. He was a tall, strong man, late forties, and he'd lost his left hand in the Ishvalan war. She felt about as sorry for him as she did for the rest of her customers, and that was very sorry indeed. While she didn't actually need auto-mail herself, she knew how terribly painful the connection was. She had witnessed it so much throughout her life that she had no doubt whatsoever. "Sorry." She said to him when it was done. "I know it hurts."

"Ah, don't worry about it, Mrs Elric. It's nothing." He said, twisting his lips into a smile she could tell he was struggling to maintain.

"Mrs Elric?" She laughed. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're married to Edward Elric, aren't cha?" Jeremy said.

"No, not yet. We are engaged, though." She clarified.

"Oh." He said shortly. "Where is he?" He asked, twisting his head around from side to side as though Ed might magically appear from behind the couch.

"He's in Central." She told him.

"Why's that?" He asked. She hung her head, her brilliant blonde bangs falling around her face.

"He needs to be close to the doctors right now." She said, her voice low and almost defeated.

"Really?" Jeremy asked. She almost wanted to yank his hand off. Did this guy never stop asking questions?

"Yes." She said, her tone implying that he should shut up.

He didn't take the hint.

"Why does he need to be close to the central doctors?" He pressed, flexing his fingers, testing them.

"I don't think he'd appreciate it much if I told anyone, to be perfectly honest with you." She said, an edge to her voice that he would hopefully notice and shut up. Thankfully, this time around, he did. She finished giving him his maintenance and he paid her the fee, which was cheap, considering all he had was that one hand that needed doing. He left, thanking her for her fabulous work, smiling and waving, and she forced on a smile and waved back, trudging back inside the house which she had reluctantly left. She dragged her feet to the room she shared with Edward and collapsed onto the bed, perfectly ready for sleep right now. She wasn't hungry. To be perfectly truthful, she hadn't eaten any food for two days straight now. Her stomach was constantly rumbling, but she ignored it, certain that any food she ate would just make it's way back up again. So she sank into bed and, from under the covers, pulled out the red cloak she'd been hiding under it. She knew Edward lost his in Drachma. She'd since taken up needlework, and had bought a cloak almost identical to Edward's in shape and size, dyed it the exact shade of red that Ed always wore, and took a ball of black wool and began to carefully sew the alchemist's symbol onto the back, in the exact spot where Edward always had it. When Edward was, for want of a better word, healthy enough, to come home, she would give it to him as a welcome home present.

She just hoped he would like it.

Exhausted, she put herself under the covers and pulled the now complete coat close to her. She fell asleep cuddling it every single night, and she would continue to do so until Edward was back home and she could cuddle with him instead. But for now, the coat would have to do. It wasn't dark yet, nowhere near, it was only five in the afternoon, but she was so tired. She'd pulled an all nighter to get that hand finished for Jeremy before he arrived today, and she'd been living completely off coffee. But the effects had worn off hours ago and she was definitely ready for some nice long shut-eye. She fell asleep the moment she shut her eyes. The dream that followed wasn't a pleasant one. She dreamed that she was at the graveyard. She was standing beside Trisha's grave. To the right of it, was the gravestone of Van Hohenheim. To the left...was Edward's. It read: Edward 'Fullmetal' Elric. 1899-1915. In front of the grave were bunches upon bunches of flowers. Winry was alone, and she could hear what sounded like a phone ringing in the background. She wished someone would answer their phone already. This was her time to be alone with Ed. How dare that stupid phone interrupt her time of grieving! She dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face. Why did Edward have to die? He was too young to die! It wasn't fair! She was alone. Alphonse couldn't take the grief, and had fled to Xing with Mai. Winry was alone, all alone, with no one that really cared. Sure, Hawkeye and Mustang dropped by every now and then to check up on her, but that was probably just a courtesy to their relationship with Edward.

Winry had been considering suicide lately. And why not? Mum and Dad were dead. Granny was dead. And now even Edward, the last light in her life, was dead. Alphonse was weeks away, and he didn't care enough anyway, or he wouldn't have left her here. It was a good thought. Trembling, she took the knife she had brought with her out of her purse, and, kneeling in front of Edward's grave, she pointed the blade in front of her heart, which was pounding a million miles an hour. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She could hear the wind blowing softly around her, and that damned telephone was still ringing! It was a shame, that the last thing that she would hear was a phone ringing. Ah well. She was going to die, right here, beside her fiance's grave. And then she could be with him forever. She pushed the blade into her skin, wincing a little as the blood oozed around it, and then, with one final effort, one last ring of the telephone, she pushed it all the way in-

-and woke up.

Screaming.

She jumped out of bed and took in deep breaths. She could hear her phone ringing from the kitchen. She hurried to answer it, trying her best to calm herself down before she said "hello?"

"Hey, Winry. It's Ed."

"Hi Ed! What's up? And why are you calling so damn early in the morning?" She asked.

"Uhhh, it's two in the afternoon..." He said. "Winry, are you okay?"

"No! I mean yes! I'm perfectly fine! Just had a late night and a bad dream, that's all." She rushed out, not wanting to make him worry. "So what's up?"

"I was just wondering, if you have time, would you like to visit me in Central? My next psychiatrist appointment isn't for another fortnight so I'm gonna be bored for a while." He explained.

"Oh." She said. "Yeah, sure! I'd love to! So you did end up deciding to see the psychiatrist then?"

"I've been seeing him for nearly two months!" He said.

"Well sorry. I would have known that if you had bothered to call me at least once before now!" She snapped, her temper suddenly rising.

"Well I'm sorry for being busy!"

"How busy could you possibly be? You don't even have a job, you're just sitting in Riza Hawkeye's house all Goddamn day!"

"Oh, so this is about Hawkeye now?"

"No, this is not about Hawkeye!"

"Are you coming or not?"

"Yes! I'm coming!"

"Well okay then!"

"I'll be there on Saturday!" She snapped, slamming the phone down. She sighed, shaking her head, The first time she talks to Edward in a little over two months and she yelled and fought with him! What was wrong with her?! She knew he was having...problems, so why did she get so mad at him? He probably was busy, but, being a woman, there was always that tiny little worm of doubt that wriggled away in her head, that her fiance living with another woman could never be a good idea. There was nothing mush she could do about it, but still...And suddenly a brilliant idea came to her! She smiled. That worm of doubt was going to be forced out very, very soon.


	7. Chapter Seven

Ed was excited for Winry's visit. It had been two months -give or take- since he'd seen or heard from her, and he was almost dying to know how she was doing. He was finally well enough to have some inconsistency in his life, Wally, his psychiatrist, said, and what could be more inconsistent than a visit from your fiancee? Edward had spent the few days before her arrival cleaning up every single morsel of the apartment he shared with Riza Hawkeye, so that there wasn't a spec of dust anywhere in sight! He had vacuumed, scrubbed, dusted, mopped, shined and polished the entire place. He changed all the bed-sheets, pillows and blankets of everyone's beds -including Mustang's- and de-dusted every picture frame and photo album he could find. He replaced all the dying or withering flowers with fresh ones he picked at the park three blocks from the psychiatric building where his appointments were held. Now, he stood back from one last last-minute polish of a recent photo taken of himself, Riza and Mustang all at the park. They'd been doing a lot of that sort of stuff lately, and Edward enjoyed it. It felt like having a family again. Mustang didn't seem to resent him as much anymore, especially since he had helped him so vigorously through his rehabilitation. Ed still wasn't sure what he'd done to piss Mustang off in the first place, but, whatever it was, Roy was long over it. He visited frequently now, although Ed had the distinct impression that he was blowing off work, to see how Riza was doing.

They weren't technically a couple, thanks to the military's anti-frat laws, but he could tell there was something going on between them. It was really obvious. At least, it was to him. He hoped, for their sake, that it wasn't that obvious to the military, or else they could both very well lose their jobs.

He smiled at his handiwork and checked his watch. He muttered a curse and, quickly putting the rag away, he ran full-pelt out of the apartment and to the train station. Winry's train would arrive any minute now, and he wanted to be there when she arrived! He'd been doing more exercise recently, so he wasn't quite as exhausted as he normally would have been when he finally reached the train station -just in time for her train to pull in! He sighed in relief and waited while all the passengers disembarked, pulling all their luggage with them. Winry, of course, was the last off the train. She heaved her trunk along with her and he waved and whistled to get her attention. She saw him and smiled widely, running as fast as she could with her heavy trunk. All he could take in was that she was wearing a pink shirt that was too big and baggy pants before she launched herself onto him, and wrapped him in the tightest hug possible. He wrapped his arms around her as well, and pulled her, if possible, even closer. He rested his head on hers and closed his eyes, two thoughts swimming in his head. The first one was God I love her. The other thought was Yay I'm still taller! He laughed at his own ridiculousness she laughed as well, for whatever reason that Edward couldn't fathom. Hopefully it was just because she was really happy to see him. She pulled back and smiled up at him, and it was then he noticed how terribly thin she was. Much more so than she was when they'd seen each other last at the hospital. It took a lot of willpower to refrain from asking her about it; better not to ruin the moment just yet, he thought. He would ask later.

He lead the way to Riza's apartment, his hand in hers. He asked her mundane little things, but things he was dying to know, such as how she was going, had she been sleeping well, simple things like that. When he asked how her business was she hung her head a little, but then quick as a beat she smiled again and said "Great!". He could tell there was something she wasn't telling him, but he was so overjoyed to see her that he didn't press too hard. As they passed the park, he paused for a moment, and promising to be right back, he hurried to one of the flowerbeds, and quickly picked a bunch of the nicest, most beautiful there. He shuffled them around in his hand, creating a colourful bouquet, and held them behind his back while he strode back to where she was patiently waiting. He smiled at her and gave her the flowers, and he watched in awe as her face lit up as she took them in her hands, bringing them up to her nose and taking a great whiff of the many different scents. She kissed him on the cheek and he felt it go a furious red colour, but he ignored it and slipped his hand back in hers, and they made their way the next few blocks back to the apartment. When he produced the key to unlock the door, he was surprised to find it already open. His heart skipped a beat in a moment of panic before it occurred to him that he probably just forgot to lock it in his haste to meet her at the train. But still, he felt the need to be cautious, so without letting it on to Winry, he went in first and silently did a scan of the house. All seemed in order, so he relaxed and led her into the living room, flicking the light on as he came in.

"Surprise!"

Edward and Winry both jumped a mile and a half as Riza, Roy, Ross, Brosh, Armstrong, Breda, Fuery, Falman and Havoc all jumped out from behind the couches with party hats and whistle-blowers. They were all laughing at their reactions, and, after the initial heart attack, Ed and Winry joined in and laughed with them. Maria went into the kitchen and came out a moment later with a huge double-layer cake, (which Winry definitely needed to eat, Ed thought) and Roy, not surprisingly, produced the alcohol. Riza looked at him scornfully for a moment before shrugging. Roy poured everyone glasses and handed one to Ed, who, legally, wasn't supposed to drink yet, as he was only sixteen, so he refused. And then it dawned on him. It was his birthday today. He was seventeen. Still not quite drinking age, not for a few more years, but still...it couldn't hurt. "I'm seventeen today." He said, more to himself than to Roy. "Why not?" So he took the glass and took a tentative sip. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it wasn't a terribly bad feeling. It was good stuff, whatever it was. Winry refused to drink anything but water, she was adamant, so Riza fetched her a glass of tap water instead. She still looked surprised at everything that was happening, and looked to Edward for support. She glared at him when she saw him take another careful sip of the drink, but, thankfully, didn't say anything. But he got the point. No more after this, he thought to himself.

Breda happily offered to cut the cake, (Ed noticed Breda's piece seemed rather larger than his own) and when Edward got a closer look at the cake, he noticed the iced writing on the top of the second layer and around the edges of the first layer. On top, in bold golden writing the same colour as Edward's eyes, it said Happy 17th Birthday Edward! He was quite surprised; he was certain he'd never told any of Mustang's crew or, anyone in the military, for that matter, when his birthday was, but he supposed Mustang, with his network of contacts and spies and whatnot, had done a bit of digging to find it. Or maybe he'd just phoned Alphonse in Xing. Did they have phones there? On the edges of the first layer of cake, in a beautiful blue the colour of Winry's eyes, said Welcome to Central Winry! He made sure his piece had a bit of Winry's name in it. And, oddly, she did the same thing, taking the piece of cake that had the word Ed on it. He was disappointed to see her piece was minuscule. Smaller than a slice a child would be given. He frowned at her and made her trade cakes with him.

The party kicked off brilliantly after that. There was a lot of drinking on Roy's and Havoc's end, and the two ended up completely drunk by the end, so Riza made Roy stay the night and Havoc was driven home by Fuery. Edward managed to convince Winry to eat a few more pieces of cake, much to her disgust. A lot of talking was also done, and at one point everyone had to hide because one of Armstrong's stories had called for a demonstration of his gross amount of muscles. But everyone had fun, and Edward the most. While he had been looking forward to a nice quiet evening alone with his fiancee, that could always come tomorrow. Tonight had been the night for fun. After everyone else left, Riza showed Winry around the house, and Roy, who seemed remarkably sobered up considering the amount of drink he'd consumed, asked Edward if he cared to join him for a walk outside, to catch some fresh air. Everything had been going well between them lately, so Edward couldn't see why not. He agreed and together they walked outside into the chilly night air. Edward took a few gulps of it and Mustang some more, and they walked down the illuminated street. Ed wasn't quite sure where they were going, but, despite the circumstances, he trusted Mustang's judgment, and was content to let him lead the way. As they passed block after block, heading towards the old warehouse district, Edward's nervousness increased. "Ah, Mustang.." he said, "Where are we going?" Mustang ignored him, but suddenly his head snapped to the left, his ears pricked, listening.

"Did you hear that?" He asked.

"Uh, no." Ed said skeptically.

"There it is again." Mustang said quickly, and ran off towards whatever it was he heard, Edward following in hot pursuit.

As they passed through a narrow gap between two closely built warehouses, Mustang suddenly whirled around and the next thing Edward knew, he was pinned against the wall, with Mustang's left hand gripped firmly around his neck, his right thumb and middle finger pressed tightly together, ready to snap at a moments notice.

"What the Hell, Mustang?!" Edward demanded.

"Now listen here, Elric." Mustang said, an edge to his voice. "What was that you did earlier at the party?"

"I don't know what the Hell you're talking about!"

"You touched her! Why?" Mustang yelled in his ear, and he winced at the noise, racking his brain to try and remember what he was talking about.

"Who?" He asked, giving up on his attempts.

"Riza. My Riza. You touched her! Tell me why, dammit!" And then, without warning, his lifted the hem of Ed's shirt to expose skin and snapped his fingers, so that fire burned his flesh. He screamed and Mustang put the fire out, but not before half of Edward's abdomen was red raw and still felt like it was burning.

"It was...just a hug..." Edward panted, struggling to regain the air he'd lost when he'd screamed. "To thank...her...for her...hospitality..."

Mustang didn't seem to believe him. "Don't lie to me!" He shouted, and swung his fist into Edward's skull, just above the ear. At that moment, he let go, so Ed tumbled and crashed to the ground below, groaning in pain. He could see patches of white blurring his vision, and his head was pounding. He felt sick. Why was Mustang doing this to him? What had he done to offend or upset him? Was this just the alcohol, or was it something Mustang had kept bottled up? He wasn't sure which was worse. He tried to pick himself back up, but Mustang swung a kick into his side and all the breath was knocked out of him and he fell flat on his face. Edward groaned again. He shuffled a few inches away and Mustang picked him up by the collar of his shirt and lifted him into the air. "Now tell me the truth!" He screamed.

"I am!" Edward gasped.

"Liar!" Mustang snarled, and he threw Edward into the wall. Edward gasped and crashed again to the ground, where he shuddered and lay still, trying not to provoke Mustang. Mustang rolled him over and sent his boot flying into Edward's gut five times in quick succession, and on the sixth, Edward coughed and coughed and blood sprayed from his mouth.

"I'm not...lying." Edward whispered, wincing.

"Yes you are!" Mustang growled, swinging another kick to Edward's gut. Ed only just blocked it with his arm, and the impact broke it.

"I swear...I'm not...lying...to you. I'm engaged to Winry for God's sake."

Mustang seemed to consider this for a moment. Apparently, that fact had never once occurred to him. He crouched down. "You better be telling me the truth." He said, his voice dangerously low.

"I am!" Ed insisted, and another flow of blood poured from his mouth.

"Come on, let's go home." Roy said.

"Yeah, like I'm gonna go back with you after this." Edward said.

"You have no choice, unless you wanna stay here all night." Mustang pointed out.

"What are you gonna tell em' when I come back like this?" He asked.

"We came across a few people trying to rob a bank. I chased two and left you to the other three, who promptly beat you up before I came back and saved your sorry ass." Mustang said simply.

"You had all this planned." Edward accused.

"Yes, I did." Roy confirmed.

"You bastard. What makes you think I'm gonna go along with your story?" Edward demanded. Mustang smirked.

"What would happen if the entire country was to find out that you and your brother committed the taboo?"

"You wouldn't." Edward whispered. He knew there was a lot of things that Mustang was capable of doing, and he could do it, too, but, no matter how many times he'd threatened Edward with it before, he had never seemed...as though he actually meant it. But, the way Mustang said it now, he sounded as though this time he had every intention of carrying out the threat. Edward knew Mustang was a man to get what he wanted, that he would do almost anything he needed to to achieve his goals...but this? He wouldn't. How could he? Surely he wasn't that cold hearted?

"Oh, I would." Mustang said. "You'd better believe I will Edward. Now, unless you want that particular secret to leak out to everyone, you will speak of this to no one. Do you hear me? Not a single person on this planet. Got it?" When Edward didn't answer immediately, he added, "Unless of course you want the world to know what you two did to your mother."

If looks alone could kill, Mustang would be very, very dead. No one could have survived the daggers Edward glared at him before saying tersely, "Got it." Mustang smiled, and offered Edward his hand. Edward ignored it and got up on his own, swaying violently as he did so. As much as he hated to, he had to lean on Mustang's shoulder for support, and together they walked, somewhat awkwardly, back to the apartment. But before they got there, Edward had something he had to ask.

"Are you actually drunk, or were you just pretending to drink so you could do this?" Mustang glanced at him, smiling.

"I'm not as drunk as I'd like to be, although I'm sure I'll regret my actions in the morning." He said.

"Yeah, I'm sure you will." Edward said sarcastically. Mustang stopped and slapped his cheek.

"Of course I will! I'm not a monster, you know!"

"Mm hmm." Ed muttered.

When they finally made it through the door, everything was silent for a few seconds, and then Winry and Riza rushed into them from the kitchen and embraced them. Edward winced. Winry stepped back and it took a moment for her to register all his new bruises and cuts. "What happened to you?!" She demanded, and Riza, noting the fuss, stepped back to examine him as well, and gasped a little in shock.

"Nothing." Edward muttered. "I'm going to bed." And he shoved violently past both of them, heading for his bedroom. Winry tried to get him to stay, to explain, but his temper suddenly flared. "I'm sure Mustang can tell you all about it!" He spat, throwing a quick glare at him, before rushing to his bedroom and slamming his door. He could hear Mustang 'explaining' it to them back in the living room, and he quickly changed into clean clothes, not wanting to go to bed in clothes that were bloodstained and dirty. He just managed to yank the hem of his new t-shirt down before Winry came in. That was lucky, he thought. She almost saw the burn. He wasn't sure if Mustang had mentioned it, or, if he had, how he would have explained it, so he decided it was best to at least keep that one hidden.

"Ed?" She whispered, standing at the door frame as though unsure about whether or not she could come in.

"Yeah?" He asked, making sure to soften his voice and collapsing onto the bed.

"Are you...are you okay?" She asked. He forced a weak smile onto his lips.

"Yeah." He said, spreading his arms wide. Winry tried to smile back, but couldn't manage it. She tiptoed over and crawled into the bed, wriggling into his arms, which he wrapped around her, closing his eyes and resting his head between the soft pillow and her shoulder, his face buried in her hair. "Hey, Winry?" He asked, a little ashamed.

"What is it, Edward?" She asked him.

"O-occasionally I...I get the nightmares again. Since I started seeing the psychiatrist they've mostly gone but...every once in a while they come back, and...after...after tonight, they might come back more frequently, I'm not sure. So, I guess I'm saying sorry in advance if, you know, if I wake you up or anything." He finished lamely.

"Edward." She whispered. "Whatever happened isn't your fault, and what you went through in Drachma, you're bound to get nightmares. I'm not going to judge you, you know that, right? And don't worry about waking me up, honestly, I'm glad to be able to spend the night with you, it's been far too long." He smiled and whispered a thank you. Within moments, he fell asleep. He dreamed of fire, pain and Envy's cruel jeering.

He woke, sweating from his forehead, gasping for breath. He looked down and saw Winry was still sleeping peacefully beside him. He sighed in relief that he hadn't woken her, and lay back down again. He didn't fall back asleep, because he didn't want to dream again. His head still pounded and the burn in his side was still flaring painfully, and his bruises could all use an ice pack. Damn Mustang, he thought. They'd been getting on so well lately, he didn't understand what had gotten into the man's head that he would do this. Maybe he still felt superiority over Edward from Ed's days in the military? Or maybe he was just a jealous asshat. Probably the latter, he thought, grinning a little. If only he could still use alchemy, then he could show Mustang who was really superior. But there was no point hoping over lost causes. He'd traded his alchemy at the Gate in return for Alphonse. It was a fair trade, and one that he didn't for a moment regret. But still...he couldn't help but reminisce over that days where he was one of the most renowned alchemists in Amestris. He sighed again and closed his eyes, but only for a moment or two. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he was sure that it couldn't be long until morning.

He slipped silently out of bed and tiptoed out of the room, opening and closing the door swiftly to avoid any creaking, and headed for the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out a small apple, which he nibbled on quietly, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Can't sleep, Fullmetal?" Mustang asked from the corner of the room, making Edward jump and drop his apple. Edward growled at him, picked up the apple and ran it under a stream of cold water from the tap, cleaning it from anything it might have picked up on the floor, and took another bite, doing his best to ignore Roy completely. He heard Mustang's soft steps walk towards him and was unable to suppress a whimper and a flinch when the older man grabbed his shirt. "I asked you a question, Fullmetal." Mustang said, his voice low and menacing.

"I obviously can't sleep, moron, or why would I be in the kitchen?" Edward said, his voice clipped.

"Don't you take that tone with me, brat." Mustang snapped.

"Sorry, dad." Ed hissed, emphasizing the word dad. Mustang slapped his face.

"Don't you give me cheek, you-"

"What? What am I? Shrimp, shorty, brat, pipsqueak?" Edward asked sarcastically. "You're not my father, you have no right to treat me like this, Flame."

"I am your superior officer." Mustang said.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not in the military anymore, idiot. I lost my title as a State Alchemist the second I lost my actual alchemy."

He could feel Mustang's cold, black eyes on him glaring. "Which only reinforces my superiority over you, pipsqueak." Roy whispered. That was the breaking point for Edward. He whipped around and swung a punch into Mustang's smug face, or, tried to. Mustang's reflexes were too good and he caught the fist in his palm. He squeezed, tight, and Edward had to refrain from gasping as he felt his knuckles almost turn to powder. He looked up into Mustang's black eyes and saw nothing but hostility and contempt in them. They were pitiless, merciless, and for a moment Ed thought he was going to crush his hand completely, but then he loosened his grip a little, and, in the same whispering tone, said, "I don't think I could explain away how your hand mysteriously shattered in the middle of the night, so I'll let your trying to punch me pass."

"Good." Ed said, as he swung up a kick towards Mustang's head. Mustang ducked, yanked Edward forward and suddenly let go, so Ed lost his balance and fell face-first onto the floor.

"But I can't let that pass." Roy said softly, and stamped his foot on Edward's back. Hard. Edward choked on his own scream, refusing to it it out, because he didn't want Winry or Riza to wake up, come running and see how weak he was. He cringed as Mustang brought his foot down, again and again, and his back felt like it was on fire. Finally, Mustang stopped, and leaned down close to Edward's face. Edward thought about tripping him up, but he decided against it. It would only lead to more punishment. He lay still. "Remember Edward." Mustang said softly. "Not a word to anyone." He stood back up and walked to his room, where he quietly shut the door and, presumably, went back to bed. Edward didn't. He remained on the floor for several minutes, debating what to do next. He couldn't go back to bed with Winry. He just didn't feel like it was a good idea. After a moment of consideration, he decided to just lay on the couch until everyone else woke up. He hauled himself to his feet, his back absolutely killing him, and limped to the living room, where he sat down carefully on the couch and spread himself across it, resting his head on the armrest. He tried not to think about how cruel Mustang had been to him. But it kept entering his mind, like an annoyed bee that wanted nothing more than to sting the human that had disturbed it. He didn't understand. Mustang had always seemed to care for him, maybe not as a son, but as a friend. To an extent. But this? This was just wrong. It made no sense. Why had he suddenly taken to beating Ed up like a misbehaved dog? What had he ever done to him to deserve it?

He knew what the first beating was about, he thought now. It had to be because he didn't like other people than him getting too close to Riza, because everyone knew he had affections for her. And he was drunk, so when Edward hugged her, that probably triggered some inner jealousy. But he couldn't wrap his head around the beating he'd just received. The drink should have worn off by now, shouldn't it? By now, Mustang was acting completely of his own accord, so why was his own accord telling him to beat him up? What had he done to deserve it? Was there something else Ed had done that he couldn't remember, or had Mustang acquired a sick craving for dominance? Edward shuddered, he wasn't sure which was worse.

Throughout the next few days, he shut himself away from everyone else, taking long walks by himself, eating quickly and excusing himself to his room, where he feigned sleep once Winry finally joined him. The nightmares were back now, but, instead of being in the barn, they now included vicious beatings from Mustang, which happened in waking hours as well. Each day he was covered in new bruises, new cuts. Mustang was relentless, finding every opportunity to beat the crap out of him whenever they were caught alone. And Edward couldn't do a single thing about it. He had to plow through. Because those words haunted him, day and night.

'Remember Edward, not a word to anyone.'


	8. Chapter Eight

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide all of his bruises from Winry and Riza. With the constant beatings from Mustang, almost his entire body was covered in purple, black, yellow and blue patches. He even sported more and more burns. He tried to avoid Mustang, but the man always sought him out, and it was impossible to run away once he was cornered. He was beginning to limp, thanks to the several cracked ribs, but he had to fight himself to hide it, he couldn't let them see. He couldn't let them know. At night, he would wait till Winry was asleep, then quietly slip out and sleep on the couch. The nightmares were coming every night now, again, and he didn't want to wake her with them. But he suspected that they were beginning to notice something was wrong. They frowned at him when they thought he wasn't looking, and he could hear some of their whispers. At least Winry and Riza have hit it off, he thought. He kept himself shut up in his room whenever he could, and when he couldn't he would go outside and try to keep himself hidden once he was out of sight, because he knew Mustang would follow him. He was doing exactly that right now. Hiding behind a trash can in an alleyway a few blocks away from the apartment, waiting for Roy to appear and, hopefully, pass by him without noticing. He sat in complete silence, breathing quietly through his nose. His heart was pounding, and he wouldn't be surprised if Mustang heard it when he finally caught up. It occurred to Edward he could have gone into the forest and climbed up a tree, but Mustang would probably just burn the tree down.

But still, it might have been a good hiding place. He was tempted to jump out of his spot now and go there, but for all he knew Mustang was already walking down the street, and if he moved now he could well be spotted.

He froze as footsteps became apparent, and took in slow, silent breaths until they reached the trash can he was hiding behind. He held his breath as the footsteps paused, and he didn't release it until they continued past him. Without moving an inch, he could see it was Mustang in his military uniform through his peripheral vision. When Mustang was out of sight, he counted in his head to thirty and peered his head out. The street was empty. He sighed in relief and crept out of the alley, jogging down the block and wincing as the movement caused severe pain in his legs and back. He jogged to the outskirts of town, walked up the hill and into the forest. He found his little hut that he'd made a little over two months ago, and noticed that a lot of the leaves had fallen off of the branches he'd used. He swept them up and scatted them inside the hut, and climbed a nearby tree to find some more branches. When he'd dropped enough he climbed down and gathered them all, then placed them over the wooden frame, making a curtain. He smiled at it and made to crawl inside, when, from behind a tree, he thought he saw a flash of blue.

He froze, slowly standing back up. He pretended to inspect the wall of the hut one last time, and muttered, "Not enough. Need more branches." And he climbed the tree again, going as high up as possible, occasionally dropping a few branches to make his endeavor look legit. When he had reached as high as he could physically go without falling, he looked down.

Mustang was at the base of the tree, smirking up at him.

He stifled a cry and tightened his grip on the tree. There was no point feigning dropping branches anymore. Mustang knew Ed had seen him. He didn't move, he was terrified of going back down and facing Mustang, but he was also mildly curious as to how Mustang planned to get him down without killing him. Mustang might think he'd have to come down eventually, but Ed had a feeling his patience could outlast Mustang's. He had no problem going to the toilet from the top of a tree, as long as it meant he could avoid being beaten up, and his months in Drachma had made him quite resistant to hunger. He could go the next few days without food before it worried him too much, and the same went for sleep. Although, if it got to that point, he could use his cloak to tie himself to the branch. He didn't think Mustang could go that long without food or sleep or water. Ed was fine as far as water was concerned. Judging by the weather he was looking up at now, it was going to rain sometime within the next few hours. If he opened his mouth and cupped his hands, he could easily catch some of the rainwater. He'd be cold and drenched, but it wasn't like he was unused to that particular dilemma. But it pissed him off to know that when the rain came, Roy would benefit from the hut Ed had made.

"You might as well come down, Edward." Mustang called up to him. "You can't stay up there forever."

"Yeah that's what you think you bastard!" Edward yelled back. He gripped the tree even tighter, certain that Mustang would try to burn the tree for Ed's insolence. He was, however, proven wrong. Mustang simply laughed and began to climb the tree. Edward reacted immediately. He quickly snapped off all the branches above him and began to piff them down at Mustang's head. Only a few of them hit, but every time they did Edward heard Mustang yell and tell him he was going to regret it. Edward didn't doubt it. He looked over to his right, to see if the tree next to his was close enough to jump to, but it was several meters away. He'd never make it. But he was in luck. The tree to his left was so close it was practically adjoined to this one. He would have to time his jump, though. If he did it right now, Mustang was close enough to the ground that he could just jump down and wait. Ed was a faster climber than Mustang was, though. He waited till Mustang had climbed three quarters of the tree, only four or five meters below Ed, and then, his heart pounding, his common sense screaming at him not to do it, he mustered together all of his adrenaline and jumped.

He grabbed onto the branch nearest him, and landed his feet on the one below. The branch under his feet snapped and he lost his grip on the one above, and for a few terrifying seconds he was tumbling down the tree, smacking every body part possible on what felt like every single branch, but then, for a moment, he was falling horizontally, and by pure luck he landed gut first on a branch sticking out almost completely horizontally. All the breath was knocked out of him and he felt a rib break, but all he could think about was that he'd stopped falling. A look right and upwards and he saw Mustang glaring daggers down at him, before beginning to climb slowly down the tree. Apparently, after Edward's fall, he was not willing to jump trees.

With a huge amount of effort, Ed slid down to the next branch and began climbing down as quick as he could. Roy was not willing to climb quite as fast as Edward, because he was not accustomed to climbing trees as much as Edward was. So Edward was at the base of the tree and running away as fast as he could before Mustang was even halfway down his tree.

That was brilliant! Edward thought to himself as he ran. Now I just have to get back to the apartment and Mustang can't do jack to me!

It began to rain just as Ed made it to the apartment. Slightly wet, he dashed in, locked and bolted the door shut, and collapsed against it, breathing heavily, clutching his side, where his rid was broken. He was covered in cuts and scratches from falling from the tree, and he had a brand new set of bruises to add to his already overflowing collection. He could feel a light flow of blood seeping from a deep cut on his cheek, where it had scraped across a broken branch stump.

Suddenly Winry came running, and when she caught sight of Ed, she froze.

"Edward!" She yelled, shaking off her initial shock and rushing to him. "What happened to you?"

"Fell out of...a tree." He huffed.

"Oh my God! What the Hell were you doing in a tree?" She demanded, not unreasonably. Thankfully, Edward was spared having to answer by Riza rushing to them.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice a mixture of concern and sternness, that she expected an answer.

"He fell out of a tree!" Winry squeaked.

Riza repeated Winry's earlier question, wanting to know what he had been doing in a tree. But at that moment, a sudden flare of pain went through him, and he groaned and put his other hand to his rib. "I think it's broken." He said through his teeth.

"We need to get you to a hospital, Edward." Riza said calmly.

"No! I don't need to go to the hospital. I just need, I think I'll just go to bed. I'll sleep it off." He said stubbornly.

"Edward, you need to see a doctor!" Winry insisted.

"No I don't!" He said, his voice raised.

"Winry." Riza said. "I don't think we can make Edward Elric go to the hospital if he's dead set on not going. As part of my military training, I was required to know first aid and had to take a certain amount of medical training. I can tend to his wounds." She smiled reassuringly at both of them. "You can help me, Winry, by helping me get him to the couch and then running a nice hot bath for him." Winry nodded and they both put Ed's arms around their shoulders and hoisted him up. They took him to the couch and gently sat him down. Riza quickly grabbed her first aid kit from under the counter and Winry dashed off to run Ed a bath. "Shirt off." Riza commanded. Ed hesitated. If he did, she would see his burns and bruises. "I said shirt off, Ed, don't worry, I won't bite." She was frowning, and Ed was worried she knew. Oh well, he thought bitterly, it was becoming more evident anyway. He reluctantly lifted his shirt and tossed it to the floor. Her eyes widened at all his various wounds, but she didn't seem very surprised. She grabbed a cloth and dabbed a corner in a bowl of antiseptic, then began to dab it at his newer wounds, cleaning them. They sat in silence, the sound of pouring water in the background, but as she cleaned the last of his wounds, an old one Mustang made with a knife, she asked casually, "So who is it that's been hurting you?"

"No one!" Ed said defensively. "I told you I fell out of a tree!"

"Edward." Riza said, sounding sad, "I don't believe that a tree did all this."

"Whaddya mean?" He challenged.

"I mean trees don't burn you, Edward. And don't give me that look, I'm not useless when it comes to wounds. These burns look to me like they're several days old." She said, indicating the first burn he received the night of the party, and two others on his hip that came over the next day. "And this one happened yesterday, didn't it?" She asked gentler, waving her hand over the burn on the middle of his abdomen, that had, indeed, happened yesterday. He began to tremble. If Riza could tell that much, would she be able to put two and two together and realize that Mustang was the one doing it?

"You don't have to be afraid, Edward." She said soothingly. "You can tell me. I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you again."

"I can't." Edward whispered.

"Why not, Ed?" She asked gently. Mother-like.

"Because he- he'll hurt-" He couldn't finish. He wasn't sure if Mustang wouldn't do it, just for telling that 'someone' threatened they would.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, Ed, I promise."

"It's not that." He whispered.

"Then what is it, Ed?"

"I can't say."

"Please, Ed."

"I can't."

"Edward-"

"I CAN'T!" He roared, just as Mustang banged on the door, asking to be let in. Ed winced and Riza muttered "one moment" before rushing to get the door. She and Mustang, who was completely drenched, walked back in, and when Mustang caught sight of Ed, he frowned.

"What is this?" He asked.

"Someone's been hurting Ed." Riza said, kneeling back down in front of him and threading a length of string through a needle. She began to stitch up Ed's worst cut, and he winced ever-so-slightly as she began, but otherwise made no more movement. He couldn't, he was too terrified. "But he won't tell me who it is. Ed, come on, I can help if you'll just-"

"I already said I can't tell you." He snapped. "I'm sorry." He added, lowering the tone of his voice. "I'm sorry I always seem to cause you inconvenience, Colonel."

"Colonel?" She laughed. "Since when am I 'Colonel'? You've been calling me Riza for months, why the change?"

"Sorry." He muttered, hanging his head so his bangs hid his face.

"Don't worry about it, Ed." She said gently. "Now you're sure you can't tell me at least why they're hurting you."

Edward thought it through for a moment, and decided the truth was his best answer. "To be honest," he said "I actually don't know the reason. I just know that I can't tell anyone." His eyes flickered to Mustang for a moment, and he could see that the man's steel-like gaze was fixed intently on him. A sudden sinking feeling engulfed him, and he knew then that it was a mistake to even have admitted the small amount that he had. He shivered, and looked back to Riza, who pulled him close and wrapped him in a hug. It felt nice, like, just for the moment, he was safe. That, while he was in Riza's arms, nothing could hurt him. But the feeling was short lived when he realized that Mustang would punish him severely for allowing it. But it couldn't be that bad, surely. He was already going to be hospital-worthy by the time Mustang was finished with him for that stunt with the trees. How much worse could it be? He regretted knowing the answer to his own question.

Reluctantly, he pulled back from the hug and smiled faintly at her. "Thanks for the patch up." He said. "I think I might go to bed now." And he stood up, swayed slightly, and trudged to the hallway.

"Wait, Ed! Winry should be about finished with that bath, she might be offended if you don't take it." Riza called to him.

"Right, I forgot. Thanks." Ed said, and bypassed his room, heading for the bathroom, where Winry was indeed finished with the bath. She smiled up at him and silently left him, closing the door quietly behind her. He stripped off his clothes, dropping them in a corner, and, without testing the water, slid into the tub. The water was near boiling, but he sank in anyway, sighing in relief as the hot water soothed his tense muscles. He lay down and rested his head on the edge of the bath, closing his eyes. He sat in silence, listening in to the other room to try and distinguish who was saying what. He made out Mustang's voice, and strained to hear what the bastard was saying.

"If he needs to leave the apartment, I can go with him as protection." He said. Edward stiffened, but kept his eyes closed so he could hear what else was being said.

"That's a good idea!" Piped up Winry. Dammit Winry, no it isn't, he thought.

"That sounds fair enough to me. Thanks Roy, I appreciate it." She Riza said, but what followed both shocked Ed and made him glow inside. "Over the past few months, I've really come to think of him as a son, and I hate seeing him hurt. It'll be nice to know someone's looking after him."

The glow inside dimmed a little, and Ed desperately wanted to tell Riza that she was placing her trust in the wrong person, but he couldn't, because that would mean Roy would tell the military what he and Al did, and then he and Alphonse would be court-martialled. He didn't care as much about what happened to him as he cared what could happen to his brother. If Al was subjected to the firing squad...Ed wouldn't be able to live with himself. He just couldn't imagine a world where Alphonse Elric wasn't alive. It just wasn't something that could ever seem real. He couldn't tell anyone, not Winry, not Alphonse, not even Riza, who he had come to think of recently as a second mother. And while he wasn't brave enough to admit it, he did not have any objections to his new-found feelings towards her.

Deciding he had done enough eavesdropping, he relaxed himself, and stopped straining his ears to hear things other people were saying. It wasn't like it was doing him any good, was it? He focused on the brilliant warmth of the bath, how it soothed his soreness and eased off some of the aching. He didn't think it was helping the burns much, but it was doing a heap of good for the rest of him, so, for now, he was content to stay here until the water ran cold.

Ed lay in bed, Winry beside him, thinking about a dream he'd once had. He'd been with Winry, he couldn't remember where, and they'd been discussing names of children they planned to have. He remembered Urey Hohenheim Elric, Trisha Sara Elric, Clarissa Mai Elric, and, finally, Maes Roy Elric. Pfft, no child of his would be named Roy after what he was putting Ed through now. No way. But, remembering the dream now did spark a question in Edward's mind. "Hey, Winry, you awake?" He whispered.

"Uh huh." Winry groaned, sleepily.

"I was wondering, do you ever think about...you know, kids?" He asked, slightly nervous.

"Sometimes...why?" She replied.

"I was just remembering a dream I had, back when Envy still had me...and in it, we were talking about baby names. And I was just wondering...if we have kids...what would you wanna call them?"

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully, propping herself up on one elbow, "Well, for a girl...I think Trisha would be nice."

"And I was thinking Sara." He laughed. "Trisha Sara."

"Trisha Sara," she repeated dreamily, "I like that. But what about a boy?"

"Urey." He said. "Or Maes. I think..."

"I think a good name would be-"

She was cut off as the sound of an explosion ripped at their eardrums, and an earthly rumble resonated beneath them.


	9. Chapter Nine

Edward and Winry leaped out of the bed and bolted to the window. They could see smoke in the distance, not quite on the other side of the city, near Central Headquarters. A jolt went through him as Ed realized it was Central H.Q. He watched the last of the building tumble and crash to the ground, and he prayed that nobody was in the building, even though reason and logic told him that there was no chance of the Military's main area of operations being completely deserted. He could hear people screaming in the distance, and, much to his horror, he could distinguish the between the screams of terror from the onlookers and the screams of pain from those in pain. "Aw, shit!" He yelled, running from the room, almost crashing into Riza on his way out.

"Did you hear that? What was it?" Riza asked, her voice bordering on frantic.

"Central H.Q just crashed to the ground!" He exclaimed.

"Shit!" She repeated, and together they ran from the hallway to the door of the apartment, barely waiting for Winry to catch up and not noticing Mustang's appearance from his room. Just as he yanked open the door, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder, and he looked up to see Riza shaking her head at him. "You're not going out there Ed." She told him. "I's not safe for you until I've found the one hurting you. "You'll stay here. Mustang!" She called, to a disheveled Mustang, running towards them. "You can stay here and make sure Ed stays safe." She ordered her superior.

"Yes, sir!" Mustang said mockingly, going so far as to salute his Colonel.

"No! I'm coming!" Edward said, trying to mask his panic.

"No, you're not, Ed." Winry whispered from behind them.

"Winry-"

"No, Ed, unless you can tell me right now who's hurting you, I agree with Riza, you can stay here, where it's safe." She said, her tone indicating that her word was final. It was like she was already his wife. Winry and Riza both ducked out the door, then, without waiting for him to answer, Hawkeye already pulling a gun from a holster she had hastily strapped on, handing it to Winry, and pulling another gun our for herself from another holster attached to the first strap.

"Wait, Winry!" He cried out, in a desperate attempt not to be left alone with Mustang. "Will you stay with me?" He asked, once she had turned back, the pleading tone of his voice reminding himself of a small child.

"I'll be fine!" She laughed. "I'm with Riza. And don't worry, you'll be fine too, Mustang's here with you."

"Yeah...Mustang..." He whispered, all the while thinking please take the hint please take the hint please take the hint! She didn't, and turned round quickly and dashed after Hawkeye, who had already flown down two flights of stairs. He himself watched her go, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. He waited for the sudden pain he so expected to strike him, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to imagine a happy place.

Winry leaped down the stairs after Hawkeye, her mind not even bothering to process Edward's pleas for her to stay with him. She hadn't seen any kind of action for...well...she couldn't remember any action she'd actually seen; not a single thing came to mind. She was absolutely itching for something exciting to finally happen to her, and this could be it. Though she detested the gun in her hands, hated the feel of it, the weight, the fact that she held in her hand the potential lives of fifteen people, it made her feel secure. That no one could hurt her while she held it. It was the only reason she didn't toss it to the floor. Besides, she didn't necessarily have to kill anyone with it, but f someone tried to hurt her she could always shoot them in the leg or the foot or something. If it came down to it, she would rather cause someone injury than death. Injuries could be healed. Death was permanent.

She huffed and puffed as she skipped steps to catch up to Hawkeye, who was now pausing at the building exit, waiting for her. She finally reached her and together they took off towards the Military Central Headquarters. Winry could hear screaming, and it chilled her to the bone when she realized that she could hear the pained screams of victims from inside the building mixed among that of the unharmed bystanders in shock. She hoped there were ambulances and medical kits already at the scene. She wanted to be able to help the hurt and injured once she got there. Auto-mail engineer aside, she was a skilled medical administrator, and was not knowledge-less in the medicinal field. One of the perks of being the only daughter of two legal doctors. Quickly, as she raced to the scene of the collapsed building, she ran her memory over everything she had ever learned about being a doctor, everything you had to do to heal a patient, to keep them from dying, every procedure and protocol necessary to keep the person you were taking care of alive.

Two more blocks to go until they reached their destination, and Winry could hear sirens in the far distance. Ambulances were on their way. She could also hear even more prominently the pained shrieks of hurt soldiers. Don't worry, I'll help you.

When they finally made it to H.Q, Winry had to take a moment to digest what she saw.

The entire fortress was nothing more than a great heap of rock and rumble, still falling in places. The high walls surrounding it had been reduced to a square of fallen rock, useless for defense and irreparable. The air was clouded with a thick fog of dust and ash, and one section of what used to be a marvelous structure was on fire, sending a sickening plume of black smoke into the air. She vaguely noticed people throwing buckets of water onto the fire, but their efforts were in vain. The fire was too big, and it was beginning to spread. But what made Winry most sick about the whole thing was the impossibly thick river of blood seeping from the remains of the building, staining the grey rock a deep, gut wrenching crimson. She couldn't see a single person alive under the rubble, and she knew the chances were less than slim of anyone being able to survive such a collision. But then she heard a scream the made her blood curdle. It was coming from the dense rock of the collapsed building, and, without a second thought, she ran to it.

When she located the source of the scream, she discovered it was a male soldier, and a great heap of rock was crushing his legs. He was covered in sweat, blood and dirt, from head to foot, and she could see that the rock had completely destroyed both of his legs and probably broken his pelvis. She knew she had to do something, but her mind went completely blank, and suddenly she couldn't remember what she ought to do in this situation. She knew she needed to get the rock off the man, but it was going to take a forklift to even come close to removing the great weight. "Hold on, sir!" She yelled over the noise. If only she could do alchemy, then she could lift the rock from underneath and throw it away, but she had never bothered to learn it, she had not the slightest clue how to do any of it. She was useless. "Someone help him!" She screamed. "Someone get rid of this rock! An alchemist! We need an alchemist!" And then she caught sight of Major Armstrong, who, to this day, still hadn't been promoted, running off to her right. "Major Armstrong!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs. He turned his head and caught sight of her, and altered his course so that he was heading toward her.

"Get the rock off of him!" She shouted over the chaos. He nodded and punched his fist into the ground, and suddenly a great many thin beams sprouted from the ground beneath and lifted all of the rubble from the man. He bit back a scream of pain and Winry got to work at once, ripping off her thin silk nightgown she had thrown over her pajamas and shredding it in two, using both halves of it's remains to tourniquet both of the man's thighs, where the rock had crushed his legs. Just by looking at the almost deflated forms of them, she knew automatically that they would need to be amputated. Another potential customer the inner engineer in her said, before she pushed it back into the depths of her brain to concentrate. She hoisted him from the ground and threw him over her remarkably strong shoulders, before turning back to the Major, who was standing there looking a tad bit bewildered as to what to do. "Major!" She yelled. "Go find other people who need your help! There are still people trapped under the rubble! Clear it off them!" She ordered him, even though she wasn't a military officer and she technically had no legal right to do so. He did what she said anyway though, immediately dashing off and instantly finding someone else to help alchemically.

She ran as fast as she could to the nearest ambulance and gently dumped the man on a waiting stretcher. Then she ran back towards the building.

But, as she threw q quick glance in the direction of the raging fire, something gut-wrenching caught her eye.

There was a woman, trapped in the fire, that she had not noticed before.

Instinctively, without so much as a moments's hesitation, she sprinted faster than her legs had ever carried her before, and, ignoring completely the shouts of warning that had come to life behind her, she threw herself into the raging flames, heading directly for the woman. The flames caught on her clothes instantly, burning through, burning her. She tried desperately to pat it away, but succeeded only in burning her palms. Biting back a scream, she ran on, towards the woman, who had collapsed in a burning heap, coughing unconsciously. Winry began to cough herself as the thick black smoke found it's way into her lungs. Her heart was thumping against her chest, her neck, wrists and she could even feel it in her brain, but still she plowed through the burning grey-becoming-black mounds of rock, winding her way around every hazard around her. She jumped a fallen beam and suddenly she was there. She had reached the woman. Flame was eating at her short raven hair and her clothes were charred and black. Somehow, he skin hadn't caught fire like Winry's, which she was doing her absolute best to ignore, but the flames were getting closer, and any moment now, she would burn until she was nothing but ashes.

Winry crouched down and heaved the woman's shoulders toward her, and that was when she caught sight of the little black mole under her left eye. Maria Ross. Ed and Al's friend. Much more frantically, Winry heaved her into her arms, coughing and spluttering and doing her best to keep her head clear, and, for the second time in the space of ten minutes, hoisted the unconscious woman over her shoulders, and began to navigate her way out of the raging fire. By some miracle, the fire on her clothes had gone out, but, as she shuffled her way around the fallen beam -there was no way she could jump it now, not with another person's weight added to her own- the fire eating away at it suddenly flared and reared up at her, and for what felt like eternity her face was alight with white-hot agony and she couldn't see. She screamed but somehow stayed on her feet, falling on each step she took forward. Human fight-or-flight instinct was screaming at her to drop Ross and save herself, but she couldn't do it. She had to save her, it was her only priority right now. It was everything keeping her going.

I have to save Ross. I have to save Ross. I have to save Ross. She repeated in her mind like a mantra, forcing herself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I have to save Ross. I have to save Ross. I have to save Ross.

She was coughing like mad, her throat was as dry and course as dessert sand and her lungs were burning as hot as the fire. She couldn't breathe, the entire air around her was black smoke. Both of her eyes were watery and her right eye, the one closest to the flames that had jumped on to her face thousands of years ago, was misty and blurry and useless.

She tripped on something she couldn't see and collapsed to the ground, coughing like she was never going to stop. All around her was fire, black and red and orange and it was going to kill her. she couldn't move; she was trapped under the heavy weight of the unconscious Maria Ross. I have to save Ross. I have to save Ross. I have to save Ross. The mantra was still going in her head, and she stretched both arms out in front of her and pulled up her knees and continued on, commando crawling her way out. The air was marginally better down here, the smoke not quite so thick, and she found it a tiny bit easier to see where she was going. By some miracle, she managed to see outside the rage of the fire, and through what could only have been sheer luck, caught sight of Hawkeye, desperately looking around her for something, shouting. "Hawkeye!" She screamed with the last of her breath, and Riza's head snapped around and apparently saw her. She began to run towards her, but stopped when she reached the fire, as though unsure how to navigate it.

"Ri-za." Winry croaked, coughing, before she blacked out.

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Blood. That was all he could feel on him. Blood and pain. His head throbbed painfully on his skull, as though there was a set of drums inside his brain, beating furiously to some terrible, nonrhythmic tune. Four or five of his ribs were surely broken, his right arm certainly was, twisted at an odd angle and flowered with colourful bruises, bleeding from the knuckles that had hit it repetitively. His auto-mail leg was smashed beyond repair, pieces of it laying here and there, looking rather lost. His eyes felt like they were being gouged from their sockets, and his vision was fuzzy, as he lay half-propped against the stone wall of the alleyway, blood smeared on the walls and flowing like a river from his beaten body into a nearby drain. He spat blood onto the already stained ground beside him, and did his best at a laugh.

"You about...done yet, bastard?" He breathed raggedly. For his indiscipline, Edward was rewarded with rake of long nails across his left cheek.

"Naughty dogs need to be disciplined, Edward." Mustang hissed.

"I think the word you're looking for is 'abused', &%$#." Edward spat.

Mustang stood on his foot, twisted his heel, and broke four of Ed's toes at once. Edward bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. "But apparently some dogs don't know when they're outmatched. Stupid disobedient fool, did you know that when a dog is too undisciplined or unreliable, they put it down?" He taunted.

"Yeah." Ed laughed, which caused his ribs to seemingly set fire to themselves. "But did you know they also put down the viscous ones? You're a viscous dog, General."

"And you're undisciplined. Perhaps I should take you to the veterinarian."

"Are you seriously still making dog references? They're beginning to sound really stupid." Mustang slugged him in the left eye, and Edward whimpered from the pain.

"Shut up! You're at my mercy, you insolent brat! You should hold you're tongue!" Roy yelled at him.

"Jeez, you sound like a parent, Mustang. You planning on adopting me?" Edward hissed.

"Why would anyone want to be you're dad, you little $&%#. You're own father didn't even want you." Mustang jeered.

"Low blow, Mustang." Edward whispered. "Low blow."

"But now that I think about it, you're still a minor. Legally, you should have some sort of guardian at your age. It used to be Pinako, but she's long dead. And if you were to rejoin the military, with me as your superior, guardianship would naturally fall under my jurisdiction. I'd have complete control over you..." Mustang trailed off, thinking.

"Reality check, Flame, but I'm not a State Alchemist any more. I'm not part of your stupid military." Edward growled at him.

"But if you were to rejoin." Mustang looked back down at him, a malicious smile plastered on his eyes. "You could be my Lieutenant. Since Riza was promoted to Colonel, and makes her own hours at home, I've been needing one. Wouldn't that be great, Elric? My personal assistant!"

"Never! I'll never join your damn military again!" Edward yelled, only for Mustang to kick him in the gut.

"You don't have a choice, Edward. You wouldn't want your brother's secret to get out, would you?" He taunted. Edward stayed silent, knowing he was about to be furiously manipulated. Again. "So, here's the deal. You're gonna rejoin the military. As a former State Alchemist, they'll let you right in without having to undergo the Military Academy, and my own personal recommendation will certainly give you a boost. Once I leak to Fuhrer Grumman that you're under age without a legal guardian, he'll assign you to my care, because as your superior officer, it's only natural for you to come to me. Because you were previously a Major, I'm gonna have you promoted to Lieutenant, and then you'll be my personal assistant.

"You'll be under my watch, twenty four seven. Whaddya think, Ed?"

"I think you're a conniving bastard." Edward shouted. Mustang swung a sideways kick at the left side of his rib-cage, and Edward toppled over, his head hitting the cement with a meaty smack. He groaned and spat more blood, which landed unfortunately in his bangs.

"Your opinion of me doesn't matter, Edward, because that is what's going to happen. Do you hear me, you # %&ing runt? Unless you want the whole country to know about what you and your brother did, you'll do whatever the Hell I say you will! And, just to add a little bit of pressure, your Teacher. She committed the same crime you did, didn't she? Tried to resurrect her dead child. If you blab to anyone about what I'm doing, or if you refuse to rejoin the military and become my Lieutenant, then everyone in Amestris will know what she did, too. Do you really want that to happen?" Mustang threatened. "Well, do you?"

"Damn you." Edward coughed. Mustang king-hit the back of his head.

"You will answer you superior with with respect!"

"Damn you, sir."

Mustang picked him up by the collar of his shirt and held him in the air in front of him. "Answer me, nicely." He said, his voice dangerously low and menacing. "Do you want me to tell the world what your brother and your Teacher did?"

Edward knew there was no way he could sass this one. He hung his head and, crushing his pride into tiny molecule-sized pieces, whispered, "No, sir."

"Good boy." Mustang said, dropping him to the ground and petting his head. "So the dog finally learns. Come on, I need to take you to the hospital. No talking, you hear me? If anyone asks you anything, you stick with your life to the story I'm about to tell you."

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Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Winry groaned and rolled over, her eyes fluttering open. She had to blink a few times to adjust her eyes to the shining white walls of the room she was in. She could see medical equipment, and noticed an IV beside her bed. A quick glance at her arm confirmed that it was attached. Something shifty registered in her mind, and she looked at her arm again. It was covered in what looked like burns, but she couldn't place where she'd gotten them. It all seemed so random. She remembered saving that man at Central H.Q, and remembered after that hearing a scream that had caught her attention, but from that point on everything was completely blank. She had no idea what she'd done afterwards, but, whatever it was, hadn't done her much good, apparently.

"Winry?" She heard Riza's voice and looked over the other side of the bed, to see Riza sitting in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs that hospitals so graciously supplied. With a start Winry saw that Riza was also sporting a few burns, but relief spread through her as she noticed that they were nowhere near as severe as the ones she had seen on herself.

"Yeah?" She croaked, and it came to her attention how desperately she needed a glass of water.

"How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?"

"I feel like I swallowed a bowl of sand, and like I set fire to myself. Also, no, I really can't remember what happened to me." She said.

Riza smiled sadly. "You jumped into a burning section of the collapsed military H.Q a few days ago to save someone." She said kindly. And then, suddenly, everything came flooding back to her. The fire, leaping in, the burning and the coughing and the smoke, and Maria Ross. Oh, God! Ross!

"Did I do it? Is Ross okay?" She gasped, fearing the worst.

"1st Lieutenant Ross is fine, she's in a room down the hall. She woke up yesterday afternoon. You did it, Winry. You saved her. If you hadn't been so brave, she would have definitely, without a doubt, burned to death." Winry felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she sighed and slumped down on her pillows.

"But...what happened to me? I remember feeling like I was going to die." She said, and Riza's smile disappeared.

"I'm afraid I don't really know how to explain it to you, so it's probably best if you just see for yourself." She said, standing up and walking over to a cupboard nearby, and pulling out a mirror. There were tears in her eyes as she handed it to Winry, who gasped in shock as she stared at her own reflection.

Her face was severely burned, worse than anywhere else. Most of the right side was scarred a dull pink, where the flames had hit her full force, and it didn't look like it would ever recover. Most of her hair was singed away, he once waist length blonde locks now uneven and reaching no lower than her shoulders. Only a tiny little resemblance of her fringe remained, and her eyebrows were just plain gone. Tears came to her eyes as she looked at what the fire had done to her, but that wasn't even the worst of it.

The worst part was looking at the cloudy blue circle that was her right eye. It had once been a vibrant blue colour, her iris, but now it was clouded, murky, blurry. There was no pupil, just blue mist that she couldn't see through. She was completely blind in her right eye.

She let the tears flow, unable to stop them. Though she had never been known to be narcissistic, she knew she had been beautiful. Everyone had always said so. But now that beauty was gone. She was scarred for life, half blind, burned almost beyond recognition. How could she even be the same person? For the quickest moment, she wished she had never jumped into that fire. But she swiftly stomped away the selfishness. If she hadn't done it, Maria Ross would be dead. Besides, she thought, trying not to be too enlightened by the idea, Ross had been in that fire longer. She had surely been burned worse. But still she was not comforted. She was hideous, there was no denying it. And then her worst fear crept into her mind, plaguing it. Would Edward still love her, now that she looked like this? Would he still be able to look at her without being revolted by the sight of her? Would he still want to marry her, or would he call off the engagement? Without knowing why, she felt a sudden lurch of fear for him.

"Where is Edward?" She demanded, trying not to sound too arrogant.

"He's on the floor below us, nursing more injuries than I like to say." Riza said at last.

"WHAT?"

"Right after we left, he ran after you, and Mustang wasn't fast enough. He couldn't catch up to him. He found him in an alleyway several hours later, after searching furiously. He brought him straight to the hospital. Whoever has been hurting him found him after he ran off, and they hurt him really badly this time. Edward's thinking of rejoining the military in hopes of scaring the guy off."

Winry was trembling with the fact that Ed was in hospital because he'd been hurt so badly. "I have to see him." She said, sliding of the bed and getting to her feet. "It's my fault he's hurt, if I had just stayed with him like he wanted then it never would have happened!" She said frantically, pulling the IV from her arm and placing it on the bedside table beside her, quickly wrapping a gauze from the cupboard around her wrist. Riza stood in her way at the door.

"If you had stayed with him then Maria Ross would be dead!" She scolded. "It is not your fault he got hurt while foolishly running after us (Riza emphasized the word 'us') when he knew that there was the likely chance that he would run into the person hurting him. It has nothing to do with you, Winry, and, while I don't like what happened to him, it is his fault and his alone. Do you understand me?" Winry nodded, seeing that Riza had a valid point. "Good, now, let's go see Edward."

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"Mr Elric, sir, you have visitors." The female nurse informed him.

"Who are they?" He asked, hoping like mad it wasn't Mustang.

"Miss Hawkeye and Miss Rockbell." She said.

"Oh, okay. Let them in. Please." He added as an afterthought.

The nurse opened the door and exited the room, leaving Riza and Winry free to come in. Edward was desperate to see how Winry was doing; he'd heard about how she'd been burned while saving Maria Ross from certain death in a fire, and he wanted to know how badly the love of his life had been hurt, but he could never have prepared for what he saw. Her hair was not even half of what it was before, burns laced her skin everywhere he could see and her face! It was burned so terribly! And her eye! It made him sick to think the pain she must have undergone to be burned so badly that she became partially blinded. "Winry!" He whispered, propping himself up on the bed and spreading his arms wide (the doctors wouldn't let him get off of it except for bathroom breaks so his ribs had time to heal). She ran into his embrace, sobbing. Whether she was sobbing for him or for her, he didn't know. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight; but not too tight, he didn't want to hurt any burns she might have. Winry, however, didn't seem to mind his broken ribs, and squeezed hard. But it didn't bother him, she was crying, and he had to comfort her.

He barely even noticed Riza quietly leaving the room to allow them their privacy.

When she eventually pulled back, he face was streaked with tears, her milky eye unfocused and depressing. But the other eye was full of life, and he thought it more than made up for the loss of sight in the other. He brushed some of her hair behind he ears, all the while watching her intently. He wasn't really sure what she was seeing on his face, because he hadn't bothered looking in a mirror to see the damage Roy had done, but he knew what he was seeing on hers, and she was every bit as beautiful as she had been before the burning. He pulled her face forward and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, and whispered "You know I love you, Winry."

"But...but how can..." She sobbed. "How can you still...now that I...I look like...like this?"

He pushed her back so that she could see his face. "Winry." He said firmly. "I love you, no matter what. I don't care what your face looks like. I couldn't care less if it was made of cat fur and pig's noses. I love you for who you are, not what you look like. But, even so, you are still beautiful to me, you always have been and you always will be. Don't you dare be ashamed of those scars. They represent your bravery, because you risked your life to save someone else, and that is amazing. You. Are. Beautiful. Do you hear me? Don't ever think I won't love you because you look a little bit different, okay? Don't you even dare."

She sniffled and tried for a smile. He smiled back. "Come here." He said, and embraced her once more, wrapping her in his arms. He knew how sensitive most women were about their appearance, and he knew that she had needed the reassurance that he would continue to love her even with her scars and her blind eye.

"Ed?" She asked timidly.

"Yeah?"

"Are you -are you really going to rejoin with the military?"

He stiffened a little, but repeated himself.

"Why?" She asked.

He went over in his head the story Mustang had oh-so-kindly devised for him before answering. "Well, for one thing, I need a job, I can't keep mooching off of Hawkeye, it's wrong. Besides, Mustang said that I can start all the way up at Lieutenant, so I'll be real close to him, he'll be able to protect me, if needed. And maybe the stature that comes with it will scare off...the guy that's been beating the Hell outta me." He laughed, mentally adding, yeah, right, cause being closer to the guy that's doing it will really help.

"You still can't tell me who's doing it?" She asked him.

"F'raid not. I can't risk him keeping good on his threat."

"What?"

Edward realized he'd said too much.

"Nothing, Winry, forget what I said, okay? I just can't tell anyone right now, period. Sorry, I now you're worried, but I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, sure..." Winry said softly, but, unless Ed's ears deceived him, she sounded more than a little bit skeptical.


	10. Chapter Ten

"Okay, Mr Elric, the paperwork has been filed. You are now officially reinstated in the Amestrian Military." Fuhrer Grumman smiled down at him, handing him the orange slip containing the official documents. "What do you think, Lieutenant Elric?" Edward tried to smile back at him, but failed. He saluted instead. He was going to have to get back in the habit of doing that.

"Thank you, sir!" He said in that monotone, emotionless voice your typical soldier would use. "I appreciate the exception you've made for me." After all, were he any other person, he would have had to go through years of Military Academy, and then he would still have started off at the very bottom as an enlisted. It would have taken him years to reach this high-ranking position of Lieutenant, if he weren't previously a Major, a State Alchemist, the Fullmetal. Lieutenant was lower on the scale, three ranks under Major, but it was still fairly high compared to where he would have been. Grumman laughed.

"Come on, Ed. You don't have to take that tone around me, it gets boring, you know. Just talk to me normally."

"Yes, sir." Ed said, relaxing his voice.

"There we go. You know, Ed, I'm very glad you decided to return to the military. We need a good kid like you, you might be able to bring a little bit of light to this boring place."

"I'll do my best, sir." He replied.

"Well, then, best be off to Mustang's office, so he can show you all your duties. You'll be working under him, so you don't have to worry about too much. He'll help you, and, who knows, maybe you'll get promoted soon, depending on your work ethic." Grumman gave him a quick wink. "Well, off you go, lad." He said.

"Yes, sir!" Edward said, saluting. He turned around and excited the great house-sized room that was the Fuhrer's office, and turned right, toward the office of General Mustang. It felt really weird, wearing an actual military uniform for the first time in his life. He wondered why they'd never made him wear it when he'd been a State Alchemist, and, after a moment of deliberation, decided they probably thought it was bad enough having a child in the military, but if the public seen a child actually walking around in military uniform, they might start to turn negative towards the state. But Edward was older now, it wouldn't bother anyone any more.

Lost in his own thoughts, Edward almost walked right past Mustang's door. He quickly spun on his heel and stood in front of it, unsure of what to do now that he was here. Shrugging, he raised his fist and knocked three times. "Come on in." He heard Mustang's voice from inside. He shuddered, and twisted the door handle, stepping inside. The room was empty of people, save for Mustang himself. The usual cluster of desks in the center where Mustang's subordinates worked were stacked with papers, except for one, the one closest to Mustang, which was empty. Edward gathered that was where he would be working. He shut the door behind him and turned to face the man he so despised. A moment passed and Edward realized he was supposed to salute in the presence of his superior officer. He did it quickly, not wanting to be punished for improper conduct. He saw Roy's eyes skimming up and down, taking him in. It made him feel gross, and he wished Roy would hurry up and say something to break the silence; he had no idea what to say. After several eternity-long moments, Mustang spoke. "Well, don't you turn out well in your uniform." Ed had no idea what to say to that.

"Come here, Edward." Mustang said. Edward complied, taking slow steps to his once-more superior. "It's been three weeks since you were admitted to the hospital. How are you feeling?" He asked, and Edward was a little taken back.

"Well, it's been three weeks without you hurting me, so, great. Sir." He added, mentally cursing himself for forgetting.

"Good, good." Mustang said, as though he hadn't noticed Ed's slip up. "How's Winry doing?"

"She's doing fine. She sold the house at Resembool and bought a house here in Central. We just moved in two nights ago." He finished there, fearing what Mustang would say. Edward had deliberately said 'we', out of curiosity as to whether or not Mustang's ambitions were going to prove themselves playable.

"Don't forget our deal, Edward." Roy said, voice low and critical.

"I haven't forgotten, sir." Edward choked.

"Good. Don't get too comfortable."

"I won't, sir."

"Good, now, as you are my new Lieutenant, I have some work for you to do for me, Elric." Mustang informed him.

"What is it, sir?" Edward asked, doing his best to keep the fear out of his voice.

"Look over these documents for me, and when you're done, sign them. Then file them appropriately.

"Oh." Ed said, a little surprised with his task. "Yes, sir!" He took the papers Mustang was holding out for him and headed for the empty desk, sitting down and placing the documents neatly on the table. Then he started reading through them. It was remarkably boring, but Edward made himself read every last scrap of paper, signing where necessary, then filing them away in the appropriate sections of shelves around the room. When he was finished, which was an hour later, and the rest of Mustang's staff -Havoc, Breda, Falman and Fuery- had trickled into the room and begun their work, he sighed, sat down in his chair, and watched absently as everyone else worked, utterly bamboozled as to what he was supposed to do next. He had the rest of the work day to go, he wasn't getting home until seven tonight, which was when the military officers were excused from duty, and it was only eight in the morning.

"Slacking off, Elric?" Mustang's mocking voice broke him from his thoughts of home.

"I'm finished the paperwork you gave me, sir." He answered.

"Well then, I'd better find something else for you to do. Can't have you sitting around on your first day, can I?"

"No, sir." Ed said.

"Hmm...Havoc, what should he do? I can't think of anything."

"I could take him down to the firing range and teach him to use some of the weapons he'll be needing, sir. I need some practice and I finished my workload fifteen minutes ago." Havoc suggested.

"So you've been slacking off too, have you?" Mustang asked, a smile playing on his lips.

"Maybe." Havoc laughed. Edward envied him. He was so laid back, he didn't have to keep his guard up around Mustang like he did. He wished he could have the same kind of freedom that Havoc had.

"Well then, I don't see why not. Off you go." Mustang yawned and, with a look of obvious loathing on his face, he set back to work on the paperwork in front of him.

Havoc stood up and motioned for Ed to follow. Ed saluted and did so, although he wasn't sure why, considering he and Havoc shared the same ranking. He and Havoc walked in silence for a while, and Ed followed him around the building until they reaching the firing range, where Havoc grabbed two handguns, two sets of earmuffs, and wrote both of their names and ranks on a sheet of paper taped to the door. Before they went through, Havoc explained to Edward everything he'd need to know about using a gun. Edward tried to listen intently, but it was difficult; all his life he had hated guns, despised them, and now he was expected to learn how to use one. Havoc must have noticed his inner turmoil, because he smiled at him. "Ed, listen. I know you hate guns-"

"They're a machine used for killing, how can I not?" Edward interrupted.

"-but," Havoc continued, "It's a necessary skill you're gonna need now that you're no longer a State Alchemist. And, about what you just said, try not to think of it as a machine for killing people, try to think of it as a machine for protecting yourself. You don't have to kill with it, Ed, you can always shoot a person in the leg -immobilize them. Either way, they go down, and you're safe."

Edward wasn't much comforted by Havoc's words, but he had to admit that the whole ordeal seemed less repellent now. He nodded and walked into the room with Havoc. Instantly the sounds of at least five or six guns being fired filled his ears, and he had to put on his earmuffs. The walls here must be soundproof, he thought over the sound of bullets being fired at targets. Havoc took Ed to an empty stall and set up a target at a twenty meter distance. He showed Ed again how to hold the gun, firing an example shot, which hit the target dead center in the head. Edward cringed, but nodded and took his aim. He spent a few moments focusing on what Havoc had told him, taking in a deep breath before squeezing the trigger. He jumped as the stall filled with a loud bang and the shot vibrated in his hands and up his arms. He waited till his heart rate had slowed back down to normal before looking at the target. It took him a second to find the bullet hole, which was roughly three or four centimeters from where he'd been aiming, at the heart. He heard Havoc whistle beside him, and tilted his head back to look. Havoc looked impressed.

"I missed." He said, hearing the disappointment in his voice.

"Yeah, but that shot was great considering it's your first time firing a gun.

"But it didn't hit where I aimed." Ed said.

"Edward, it takes a lot of practice to aim precisely with a gun, and that was the first time you've ever used one. Of course it's not gonna be dead-center. But, all the same, you only missed by a few inches. That's pretty good. But if you wanna shoot to kill, then you gotta keep going at it till you get it right every time."

"I don't want to kill anyone." Edward whispered.

"And you don't have to. Let me rephrase. You need to be good with that thing, but if you want to aim to injure without killing, then you'd best reach Hawkeye-level aim. It's easy to shoot to kill." He said darkly. "It's actually harder to shoot to wound."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Edward nodded as he said it, taking aim once more, shutting his left eye so he could see the intended path of the bullet better with his right. He focused his aim at the heart of the target, remembering Havoc's words. It's easy to shoot to kill, it's actually harder to shoot to wound. If he was going to become good enough at this to shoot only to wound, he would first have to learn to shoot a killing blow. He sucked in a lungful of air, released it, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

He didn't jump this time; he was already used to the sound and the odd vibrating sensation that followed the shooting of the bullet; so his hit was closer to his intended target. He'd missed the heart by two centimeters, no more. He smiled to himself, and Havoc's next comment was drowned out when Edward decided to try his luck with a double shot.

BAM! BAM!

Again, he was closer, missing by the tiniest little centimeter with the first bullet, and a few centimeters too low with the second. Havoc whistled again, and Edward felt a kind of warmth spreading through him. He found he was liking the power of the gun in his hands, found he enjoyed the sound it made and the funny little vibrations that emanated from it. It wasn't alchemy and would never be able to replace it, but he had the distinct feeling that it could very well get close. "You're a natural at this, Ed." Havoc said, and Edward thanked him for the compliment, but argued that he had a long way to go before he could reach any kind of level of skill. Havoc agreed, but Edward felt like he was missing something. Like there was some tiny little detail that he needed to know, but it had been left out. He mentally shrugged, deciding to forget about it. Besides, if he forgot, it was sure to pop randomly into his head sometime later.

Sometime later, he had emptied all sixteen bullets from his handgun, and every bullet had gone closer to the target, until, on his second last, he had hit the heart perfectly -an instant kill, had he been aiming at an actual human being. He was breathing a little harder by the end, but he was feeling extremely proud of himself. Havoc was smiling at him, complementing him on his good aim and saying it couldn't have possibly been his first time handling a gun, not with that skill. He teased that he must have been taking secret lessons with Hawkeye, and that he was slightly jealous, and so on and so forth. When they left the firing range, Ed had a new spring in his step, and his good mood only heightened when Havoc promised to bring him back the next time they both had free time from work.

As they passed a clock hanging from a wall, they realized it was already lunch break, so they changed their course and headed to the mess hall instead of Mustang's office. This time around they talked, brightly, and Edward was feeling better than he had in weeks. For the first time since the first beating, all thoughts of Mustang and his abuse was completely driven from his mind, and as he and Havoc ate lunch, and Fuery and Breda and Falman joined them, Edward was beginning to feel more at home here at the military. He didn't feel quite so outside of everything as he had as a State Alchemist. Back then, he had been a 'dog of the military', but now, he was just an ordinary soldier, just like everyone else, and there was a noticeable lack of hostility from the the other soldiers by comparison.

He was mildly surprised when he was summoned to Fuhrer Grumman's office by a 2nd Lieutenant by the name of Kate Beretta, but the odd calling did nothing to dampen his euphoria. The spring that had worked it's way into his pace never faltered, and when he knocked of Grumman's door, and was called in, he stayed positive as he opened the door and saluted his Fuhrer.

And then he saw Mustang.

The euphoria fell, crashed and burned to nothing more than a blown-away pile of cold ashes in an instant.

The spring died, and his upright posture faltered a little. But still he saluted his superior. Not out of respect, no, any respect for that man had withered and died a long time ago, but out of the duty of an inferior officer. He had to, he had no choice, so he did it, but it was clipped.

"Lieutenant Elric." Grumman said. "It has been brought to my attention that you, and I mean no insult by this, are currently lacking in adult guardianship."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir." Edward said.

"Forgive my bluntness, Lieutenant, but you are underage and, technically, an orphan. During your previous occupation in the military, your registered guardian was Pinako Rockbell, your adopted grandmother. But, since her tragic passing, guardianship over you has not yet been passed down to anyone. Which means, of course, that I had to make some arrangements for you that I think you'll find, at the very least, tolerable. As General Mustang is your superior and you work directly under him, I thought it appropriate that he take charge of your well-being until you come of age, which is to say, you turn twenty-one. He'll be like your adopted father, of sorts. I've already spoken it over with him, and he's agreed to take care of you. Haven't you, General?"

"I have, sir." Mustang confirmed.

Edward felt fear spread through him. He knew this was going to happen, but he had no idea that it would happen today, on his first day here!

"Sir, I appreciate the offer (NOT), but I'm currently living with my fiancee in a house she bought on the east side of the city. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, General Mustang." He added.

"Not at all, Lieutenant Elric. It would be of no bother to me at all." Yeah, sure it wouldn't, Ed thought bitterly.

"I'm afraid it's the law, Edward." Grumman said kindly. "You're fiancee, she's your age, isn't she?" Edward had a sinking feeling, that it would be a bad, bad idea to answer, but the Fuhrer asked him a question. He couldn't not answer.

"She is, sir." He said softly.

"It's Winry Rockbell, isn't it?" Grumman asked.

"Yes, sir." Ed replied.

"And she had no other relatives to take charge of her?"

"No, sir, none that I know of."

"Well then, I suppose the logical thing to do would be to place her in the care of an orphanage-"

"Please no! Sir." Edward added after his plea.

"Is there a problem with this, Lieutenant?" Mustang's voice cut in.

"Yes, sir." Edward answered, a tad more bitter than he'd intended. "Winry is strong, she's survived this long without Granny, she'll be perfectly okay on her own. There's no need to send her to an orphanage, sir."

"Then where do you suggest she go, Elric?" Mustang asked him, sounding impatient.

Edward thought for a moment, his brain desperately working overtime to try and think of a place, any place, where Winry had friends -adult friends- that would take her in. The first thing that came to his mind was -

"Rush Valley."

"What?" Mustang snapped.

"She had a job in Rush Valley a little while back, and lot's of friends, too. I'm sure her old boss, Mr Garfiel, would be happy to take her in. He has a soft spot for her." He explained.

"Well, that would work out fine. I'm sure she'd be much happier there than in an orphanage." Grumman agreed. Mustang nodded his head.

"Sounds like a good plan. I'll have one of my subordinates contact Mr Garfiel and arrange something." Mustang offered.

"That would be very kind of you, General. Lieutenant Elric, it will be your responsibility to inform your fiancee of this development, and arrange train tickets and such forth. I know this may sound unkind, but I'd like to have you moved into Mustang's house by the end of the week, and the same goes for Miss Winry in Rush Valley. I hope you both find the arrangements suitable, and I bid you both good day. You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir!" Mustang and Edward chorused, saluting. They left together, and when Mustang turned right, Ed made to turn left. But his action was intercepted by Mustang's hand clamping down on his shoulder. Edward flinched, but stopped.

"Yes, sir?" He asked nervously, his hands beginning to shake.

"Not so fast. Lunch will have ended by now, you're coming back to the office. I won't have you slacking off, Lieutenant." Mustang said, and Edward could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Yes, sir." He said, his voice shaking. He turned around and headed back to Mustang's office with him, his heart racing. He couldn't fathom how in the name of all things Holy he was going to break this news to Winry. Break it to her that she would have to sell her brand new house and ship off back to Rush Valley. Before he knew it, he was back in the office, a telephone in his hand, and he was briefing Mr Garfiel on the situation. After lengthy explanations that pained Ed to give, Mr Garfiel agreed to sign the paperwork that would make him the legal guardian of Winry Rockbell, but he also refused to do it until Winry called him and told him herself that she was perfectly okay with this. He didn't want his former apprentice to think that she had no choice in the matter, even though she technically didn't. Edward thanked him and promised that Winry would call him soon. When he hung up, five sets of eyes were all locked on him. He knew they'd been listening in on his conversation, but he chose to ignore them, instead taking out the paperwork that was to be sent to Mr Garfiel and reading through them, making sure everything was legit and that there was nothing that would put Winry in danger. After reading them (twice), he decided that they were perfectly legit, and filed them in a little orange slip. He would have to mail them to Rush Valley for Mr Garfiel to sign, but first he wanted to show them to Winry.

"Winry, you home?" Edward called out as he closed the door behind him.

"Right here!" Winry answered from the kitchen. Edward tried to put on a smile before going in, but found he couldn't do it. He sighed, and made himself put one foot in front of the other, until he was walking through the foyer, down the hall, past the living room and in the kitchen of his house, or, what had been his house. Winry was dancing to music on the radio when he walked in, simultaneously cooking what looked like steak and potato. He smiled, just a little, at that. Steak had always been his favourite, and he did love potato.

"Hey, Winry?" Ed asked tentatively, his voice low.

"What's up? How was your first day of-" She turned around, saw the look on his face and stopped dead. "What's wrong?"

"Winry, today I was summoned by Fuhrer Grumman, because it had been 'brought to his attention', to use his words, that we are both under age and without legal guardians." Ed said slowly.

"Yeah? What about it?" She asked, a hint of nervousness touching her voice.

"Well, because Mustang is my commanding officer, apparently, I go under his charge. So, basically, I have to live with the guy and he gets to be my adopted father." He said, not even bothering to keep the bitterness from his voice. "But then he mentioned you. Because you have no guardian and no military connections, and by that I mean no commanding officer to force you under their wing, they wanted to send you to n orphanage."

"What?" Winry said, outraged. "What do you mean, they wanted to?"

"Well, I knew you'd hate the whole idea, and I told them as much, and they said, 'well what do you suggest', and I thought...well...Winry, you've been saying recently that you ought to go back and visit Mr Garfiel in Rush Valley, and it was the first thing that came to my head, so..."

"So you're sending me to Rush Valley? Is that it? I don't get any say in the matter, do I?" She asked, disgust evident in her voice. Edward cringed back from it.

"Well it's not like I get a choice, is it? I have to go live with that bastard General, at least you will get to be somewhere you like! And yeah, you do have a choice! It's that, or the State Orphanage! Take your pick!" He yelled, completely bewildered as to why she sounded like she was blaming him.

"That's it? That's all the choice I get?" She shouted.

"At least it's more than what I get!" He bellowed, silencing her. "At least you get to be among friends! In a place you love! I'm stuck here, in Central, with a man I hate! But he's my commanding officer, so I don't get the slightest bit of say in it! But at least you get a choice! And, if it makes you feel better, Mr Garfiel refuses to touch these damn papers-" He pulled the slip out of his coat pocket and slammed it down in the kitchen table "-until he gets a call from you and knows that you're okay with it all! He refuses to become your legal guardian without your consent first! I don't get that option! As far as the military's concerned, Roy Asshole Mustang basically owns me now, twenty-four-seven!"

He was shaking, and he felt his knees about to give way. Quickly he pulled out a chair and immediately he collapsed into it, putting his head in his hands.

"Edward?" Winry whispered. He looked up at her through his fingers. "I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you. This is all just so...so sudden, and I'm not sure what to make of it. I'll call Mr Garfiel now...if that would help." She offered.

"Yeah, it would. Thanks." Ed said through his hands.

Winry moved over to the telephone on the wall and picked it up, dialing Mr Garfiel's phone number. It rang a few times before he picked up, and Edward could just make out his cheery voice from the distance. "Hi, Mr Garfiel." Winry said. "Yeah, I'm fine. Hey, listen, about that thing that Edward was talking to you about earlier today..."

Edward lost focus on the conversation, his head swimming in and out of reality, his whole world becoming swirling pools of white and quiet, of noise and colour. He kept spacing out, but it was only when Winry hung the phone up with a click that his head jumped back into reality. "He's agreed to sign the papers." She said softly. "He's agreed to take me in and make me his apprentice again."

"That's great, Winry." Edward said. "At least I won't have to worry about you as long as I know you're there with him."

"Yeah." She agreed, but it didn't sound wholehearted.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Throughout the rest of that week, Roy watched Edward intently. Watched every move he made, every person he talked to. He noticed that as the week progressed and the day of the move drew nearer, the boy became increasingly nervous and jumpy. He flinched at every single touch, every spoken word he hadn't been expecting. Often Mustang watched him shake and shiver, and he knew what Ed was thinking about each time he did. It gave Mustang a kind of twisted pleasure to know that it was because of him that Edward was keeping himself locked away, where the only person with the key to the lock was Mustang. Another thing he noticed was that whenever Edward had any kind of spare time, whenever he had finished his work, he would request to do downstairs to the firing range, to practice his aim with the handgun. And while Mustang didn't like the idea of the boy being capable of defending himself against Mustang's attacks, he also didn't want him to die at the hands of someone else. Ed was still his most prized officer, and he was unwilling to lose him.

The night before Edward moved into Roy's house, Winry left for Rush Valley. Mustang had watched intently as tears flowed down both of their faces, down Edward's sparkling golden eyes, and from Winry's own blue ones, left eye clear and twinkling, right eye murky and unseeing. Since being burned Winry had had her hair cut properly, so now her bangs were even, and the once flowing long locks that ran down her back were trimmed to just below her ears. Mustang had seen pictures, and knew this was exactly what her hair had looked like when she was a child. Mustang remembered Edward's words to that Mr Garfiel that Winry was going to live with six days before. 'There was an accident a weeks ago and, well...Winry looks a bit different. Try not to bring anything about her appearance up unless she does, please. She's rather sensitive about it.' Roy liked Winry, and he hoped that Mr Garfiel and all Winry's friends in Rush Valley would follow Ed's advice, for her sake.

After they had said their goodbyes and Winry had boarded the train, Mustang had escorted Edward back to his former house (Which Winry had already sold; the new owners would be moving in in a few days time) to retrieve his already packed belongings. He helped Ed load them into the car, and Edward had given one last, longing look at the house before clambering nervously into the backseat of Roy's car. It had bothered Roy that he hadn't sat in the front, but, considering the way he had been treating the boy, it was of no surprise. He could hardly blame him for wanting to avoid pain.

There would be plenty of that later.

Mustang sighed as he pulled the car to a stop beside his house. He got out and opened the boot of the car, pulling out Ed's trunk and allowing Ed to carry the rest of his possessions. He saw that he was shaking terribly, so that he almost dropped the stack of books he was carrying as they walked to Mustang's front door. Roy unlocked the door and showed Edward inside. His house wasn't too remarkable, considering he was a general, a mere one rank below the Fuhrer. It was a simple two story building, with a conjoined kitchen, living and dining room, separated only by a few couches. The downstairs bathroom sat next to the laundry room, which was opposite the kitchen end of the first floor. Above were three bedrooms, his own, opposite that was where Riza always slept when she visited, and beside his own was what used to be the guest room, but would now play host to Edward. Next to Riza's bedroom to the left was the upstairs bathroom, and to the right of Edward's room (which was the smallest) was a small cupboard where Roy kept towels, bed sheets and pillowcases. He showed Edward all of this, neglecting to mention the medicine cabinet and first aid kit in the upstairs bathroom, which Edward would not be permitted to use. While Edward unpacked his things, Roy went downstairs to cook dinner; stir-fried broccoli, cauliflower, beans and tomato, with baked potato and lettuce. Roy didn't eat meat; he hated the smell of burning flesh, it made him sick, didn't make a difference to him whether it was human or not. The stir-fry didn't take long; five minutes to prepare and two and a half minutes to cook. He poured it all into a glass bowl and put the lid over the top so the food would stay hot, and set to work on the baked potato. While he waited he took the lettuce out of the refrigerator and pulled pieces off, dividing them into equal amounts and putting them onto two plates. When the potatoes were finished he smeared them in butter and did the same thing, dividing them equally and separating them onto the two plates, then repeated the process with the stir-fry. He called out for Edward to come down for dinner and grabbed two knives and two forks from the cutlery drawer, placing them on the dining table beside the plates, which sat opposite each other. Then, not bothering to wait for Edward, he pulled out a chair, sat down and dug in. That night, before he went to bed, he would have to drink down a tablet to make up for the lack of iron in his meals, just as he always had since the war in Ishval.

Just as he put the first fork of food into his mouth, he heard the stairs creaking, and a few moments later Edward appeared. Like Roy, he was still in his military uniform. He had bags under his eyes, and his face was red and streaked with tears. He'd been crying. Good. He wasn't supposed to be happy here.

Edward paused at the bottom of the stairwell to look at what the seating arrangement was, and, apparently finding it satisfying enough, he stepped over to the table and sat down, staring down at his food. "No meat?" He asked nervously, after a moment.

"I'm a vegetarian. Can't stand the smell of flesh burning." He said.

"That doesn't stop you from burning me." Edward muttered under his breath, and Roy watched him absentmindedly touch one of the burns Roy had inflicted on him.

"What was that?" Roy asked, his tone low and menacing.

"Nothing!" Edward said quickly, staring at his plate. With shaking hands, he lifted his fork and poked at a bean, which he pushed aside from everything else and instead forked up a piece of cauliflower.

"Don't like beans?" Roy teased.

"Hate em'." Ed murmured, cheeks going red.

"Understandable. Cannibalism isn't an attractive quality." He taunted.

"Don't call me a tiny little micro-bean!" Ed sputtered defensively.

"Never said that." Mustang laughed, shoving potato in his mouth.

Edward muttered something incomprehensible. Mustang laughed to himself, thinking that the company actually wasn't too bad. And then he remembered why the company was here, and the laugh turned into a sinister smile as he fantasized about beating Edward to a bloody pulp, hearing his screams and shrieks of pain, making those sparkling golden eyes turn dull and trembling with fear. It was going to be fun.

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That night, at eight o'clock, Mustang sent Edward to bed. An hour later, he went upstairs himself, and crept into Ed's room. He heard even breathing become stiff and irregular, and he knew the boy was awake. He shut the door behind him, and leaned against the wall. "Come here, Edward." He whispered. Edward made no move to get out of bed. Instead, Mustang heard the faint rustle of bed sheets as he wrapped them tighter around himself, feigning sleep. "I know you're awake, Edward, so you might as well just come here." A strangled kind of noise escaped Ed's throat as he slowly pushed off the blankets and slid off the bed, dragging his feet towards Mustang. He'd changed out of his uniform, and was now wearing plain white shorts and a blank blue sleeveless top. As he came closer, Mustang registered the defeated look in his eyes, and smiled. "You should have come when I first told you to, Edward." He whispered, then threw a punch to Edward's left cheek. Ed fell to the floor, unmoving, and Roy wondered if he'd knocked the kid out. But when he moved to crouch at Ed's side he saw his eyes flutter open, catch sight of Roy, and then immediately screw tightly shut. He was awake all right.

"You're pathetic." He murmured, kicking Edward in the side. The boy whimpered but made no other sign that he'd even felt it. Roy growled, grabbed a chunk of his golden hair and lifted him up to his knees, squirming in pain as strands of hair were torn from the roots. "Open your eyes, you stupid pathetic piece of sh!t. Open you're eyes and take it like a man!" With obvious effort, Edward's eyelids slid back to show those big golden irises of his, and Roy's heart missed a beat. They were shaking, never sitting in the same position, trembling with fear, and it made Roy feel powerful to know that it was him that caused them to shake like that. That it was he who was reducing the most renowned alchemist (or former alchemist) in Amestris to a shaking, terrified mess. Not many people could claim to have done that. Roy smirked, backhanding him across the face. His head snapped to the side from the impact and his right cheek went pink. "You're so damn weak." He laughed. "You used to be a whole lot better than this, but now you're just pathetic. The Edward I used to know would fight back."

"Well it's kinda hard to do that when you've threatened to send my family to the gallows if I do." Edward spat.

"And so far you've been just as obedient as required. You've been a good dog."

"Will you stop with your lame dog analogies, they don't exactly apply to me anymore." Edward hissed as Roy tightened his grip on his hair, yanked on it again.

"Fine then." Mustang said, amused. "But that smart-ass comment is gonna cost you."

"What? You gonna rip my arm off?" Edward seethed.

"No." He said. He lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. "But I might just burn it."

"What happened to hating the smell of burning flesh?" Ed snapped

"You're the one exception." Roy whispered. He grabbed one of his ignition gloves from his pocket and slipped it on, dropping Edward to the floor and grabbing his right wrist. He squeezed it tight, then snapped his middle finger against his thumb, creating a spark of flame that latched onto the first thing it came into contact with; Ed's arm. The teen bit back a scream as the fire seared his flesh, turning it pale pink. Mustang patted the flames out with his hand after a few moments of watching Edward's agony. It was like a great box had opened up inside him, and from that box burst forth an unimaginable sense of satisfaction. Only he could touch this kid, only he could make the child feel pain and fear and only he could get off on such a thing. He knew it was twisted, he knew that if his friends, or, for that matter, anyone, ever found out about what he was doing, he would be dishonorably discharged from the military and court martialled faster than he could say 'ambitions'. His friends and family would disown him, and they'd probably come after him as well. He'd definitely be charged hefty fines for child abuse, assault of a military officer and for threatening the lives of Amestrian citizens. And that was just the start. No, he couldn't let anyone find out about this, but he was not going to stop, either. Because damn was it fun.

The first time he'd beaten Edward, it was because of jealousy, and he was also partially under the influence of alcohol. But then, after he'd sobered up, he'd realized how thrilling it had been, how powerful he'd felt, to have Edward under him, screaming silent screams, crying invisible tears, and he'd realized that he had to do it again. So he'd done it, and he'd developed a taste for dominance. Dominance over the only person who could challenge him. But the only problem with that was that there was a chance that he could win. So he had to find a way to get away with it. Threatening Edward's brother was the only way he'd been able to think of to do that. The only way to force Edward to sit silently still while he satisfied his new-found bloodlust.

But still he'd needed more. More than just being able to make him bleed at every opportunity. He needed to control him. To own him completely, in every aspect of his life. But he'd needed more to do that. So he'd threatened to tell the government about Edward's teacher's sins as well. He'd watched as any hope Edward had died from his eyes when he'd said it. And it had been almost beautiful to watch.

He watched now, as the blonde fought back tears that threatened to escape. He knew what was going on inside the boy's head. Don't cry, don't cry, don't let him win. That's what Edward would be thinking. So far, after everything Roy had done to him, beaten him, burned him, cut him, he still hadn't managed to make him cry, and he knew that Edward would do everything in his power to avoid it. And Roy would do everything in his power to force those tears out. He laughed and flipped Edward over, onto his back, and struck him between the shoulder blades with the side of his hand. He cried out, but still those tears remained unshed. Roy growled, repeating the action again and again and again, until there was a furious bruise blossoming out from behind the cover of Ed's shirt. He stood up, pulled his leg back, and swung a kick into Edward's shin. He screamed in his throat but didn't let it escape his mouth. Roy kicked him in the knee and he cried out again, curling into a ball,pulling his arms up to cover his face. Mustang grabbed his right wrist, which was still as hot as the fire which had burned it, and yanked him upwards, so that he was facing him again.

"Come on, Ed. fight back. You know you want to." Mustang taunted.

"You'll just tell." Edward gasped.

"That's right, I will." Mustang nodded. "But do you really want to take this anymore? I know your just dying to stand up and hand me my head on a silver platter. So why not do it? Who cares about your brother, or your teacher? Do they really matter? It's not like they'l get hurt."

"Yeah, they'll only be killed." Edward hissed through his teeth.

"Exactly." Mustang smiled, and punched Edward in the stomach. His irises shrunk so they were barely discernible, and he gasped, trying desperately to regain the air he'd lost. "Fight back, Ed." Mustang said, throwing another punch, and another one. Edward choked on his own pain and couldn't pull in any breath, and his cheeks went purple. "Pathetic weakling, fight back!" Roy yelled, and suddenly there was fire in Edward's eyes and his left arm appeared from nowhere and-

\-----------------------------------------------------

-his fist connected with Mustang's cheek and suddenly everything went still. Mustang was evidently shocked that Edward had put up some resistance. And Edward used that to gain himself an advantage. The safety of his brother and teacher had somehow gone out the window for the moment, Ed's brain only processing the need to fight for his own survival. With a cry of pain he yanked his right wrist out of Mustang's grip and dropped to his hands, twisting his body and sending a whirling kick to Mustang's cheek. His foot made contact and and then Mustang went flying, crashing into the wall and falling to his behind. Edward's heel had broken skin, and there was a thin cut that was oozing blood along his right cheek. Before he could recover, Edward flung himself on him, punching every inch of him he could find. After what seemed like no time at all and also an eternity, Mustang's closed eyes snapped open, his fingers clicked and Edward jumped off of him just in time to avoid a wall of flames.

They were both breathing heavily, and Edward was suddenly aware of a blinding pain in his side. His knees gave out and he dropped to the floor, grasping his injured side with both hands. Mustang took the opportunity to get up from his lowered position and stepped slowly towards where Ed had fallen, a great smirk plastered on his face. He looked down at Ed and laughed. Then he stomped his foot hard on Edward's shoulder. Edward yelled and Mustang repeated the action several times. Ed looked up at his face, staring into the cold, merciless eyes the colour of Satan's very own soul, and searched for any sign of remorse or pity. He found none.

\----------------------------------------------------

Mustang watched Edward's golden eyes searching his own, searching, for something he wasn't going to find.

He himself looked intently into the beautiful gold eyes below him, watching. Searching for any kind of fire left in them. Searching for fire or determination or any sign of the boy he had met so many years ago in Resembool. But he was searching for something he wasn't going to find.

\----------------------------------------------------

And Edward had to admit to himself that he was lost. That the fire that had once burned so furiously inside him had died. But it had been reignited in recent months -

-only to be smothered again.

He felt his flame die out within him, felt it take it's last breath before dying. He had lost the last piece of himself that he had truly needed. Not even his psychiatrist would be able to raise the flame back to life now, because it was lost within the depths of abusive waters that were swallowing him whole. There was no going back. All was lost.

He didn't fight back as Mustang stomped on his shoulder over and over and over again. He didn't fight back as his ribs were cracked from seemingly endless kicks and didn't fight back the punches that enveloped his body, the beating that went on for hours, until it was well past midnight, and Mustang had finally decided he was tired. Not bored, oh, he could never get bored with his favourite sport, just tired. He was expected to rise early, after all. And so was Edward. But he didn't think he had the strength to do it. He didn't even have the strength to crawl off this damn floor. He was soaked in his own sweat, and shivering feverishly, and he knew he had to change, had to get back into bed, into the warmth, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't lift his aching arms and legs and everywhere. He couldn't make himself do it. So he lay there, still, trying desperately to empty his mind of everything that had happened. Of everything that was surely going to happen. Trying to make himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he would find a way to escape the ocean of pain he was drowning in.

Sometime around four o'clock that morning, Edward fell asleep.

His dreams were anything but peaceful.

"Big brother? Where are you? No, Daddy, stop! Stop! Big brother! HELP ME!"

"I'm coming Nina! I'm coming! I'll help you!"

"Daddy no! Daddy! Daddy-" Her scream echoed throughout the world, not a single soul on Earth didn't hear it. Edward ran as fast as his legs could carry him, but it just wasn't fast enough. Her screams continued, and it tore him apart. He didn't want to see the child become the monster he knew she would. It was agony, hearing her pained shrieks, the wolfish howls of Alexander, the maddened laughter of Shou Tucker, the Sewing-Life Alchemist, as he combined his daughter with her dog. What kind of person is he? Edward wondered as he ran through the endless white space that enveloped him. He shouted at nothing and everything as he sprinted, but he never managed to get any closer to Nina. He urged himself forward, her screams becoming his energy source.

"Nina!" He shouted.

"Big brother!" She screamed back, but already her voice was different. It was deeper, animalistic, demonic. And then suddenly she appeared out of thin air, directly in front of him. He stopped running. What was in front of him was no longer human. It was the fully created chimera, the white creature that resembled Alexander but across it's tail, back and atop it's head, was the mop of brown hair that belonged to Nina. "Big brother Ed." It smiled at him, and he screamed, turning away from the horrific and disturbing sight. When he turned, he saw a great suit of armor, identical to the one he had trapped Alphonse's soul in.

"Brother, why did you do this to me? Why, brother?" Alphonse said, his soulfire eyes burning.

"I didn't mean to." Edward whispered.

"Why didn't you save me, big brother?" Nina asked from behind him.

"I tried!" He cried out.

"Why couldn't you bring me back to life, Ed?" Suddenly, to his right, was Trisha. But it wasn't Trisha. It was the inhuman creature he had created when he had tried to bring Trisha back.

"I tried!" He said again, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

"But you shouldn't have, you foolish boy." And on his left, was Truth. Edward cried out in fear and took a step away from it, but he tripped over Nina, and suddenly he was sitting on his behind, his knees in front of him, his hands keeping him steady beside him, and they were all around him. Nina, Alphonse, the failed Trisha, and Truth. "You shouldn't have tried to go against the laws of nature, young alchemist."

Edward cried out as the failed Trisha cupped his chin with her blackened hand, and tried to pull away, but Alphonse had grabbed his arm, and Nina was pushing his back with her nuzzle. "Big brother, don't leave me." She said.

"Help me, brother."

"Bring me back to life, my son."

"Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!" He screamed, jamming his hands over his ears, but the attempt was futile, it did nothing to block out the sounds of the people he had let down.

"You brought this pain on yourself, Edward Elric." Truth said.

"You deserve your pain, Edward." Mustang said from beside Truth. Edward tried to crawl away, but Alphonse's grip was relentless and Nina was rooted to the spot and Trisha was beside him, spewing blood, dying. "You deserve your pain and you deserve to listen to theirs. For all the pain you brought that poor creature." At that moment, Trisha took in a rattled breath, coughed it out in a river of blood, and died.

"For the excruciating death that was wrought upon Nina." Nina gave a great howl, and collapsed to the white expanse that served as a ground, blood spurting from every open space. She was dead.

"For the unfeeling shell you trapped your brother in." Alphonse screamed, his armor breaking apart, soulfire eyes going out. The blood seal vanished, and the shattered, lifeless armor dropped to the white space of floor.

"You deserve all the pain I bring you." Mustang finished, before kicking Edward in the head, sending him flying. More kicks rained down upon him, and Edward screamed for help, desperately looking at Truth, as though it would help him.

"Your pain is justified, Edward Elric." It said. "You were foolish enough to create something that could only live short moments of agony."Kick, kick, kick to the head, the ribs, the back. "You were naive enough to trap your brother in an empty shell, not taking the time to think of a proper way to save him." Pain, pain all over, nothing else existed but the pain. "You were ignorant enough not to notice what the Sewing-Life Alchemist had in store for his helpless daughter." Head smashed to pieces, yet still conscious of the pain, the truth.

"You caused so many people so much pain. Now, it's time you experience some of that pain yourself-"

"I'm sorry!" He screamed.

"Hmm?" Truth paused.

"I'm sorry for everything I did! I know my pain is justified, I know I deserve it, but I really am sorry for being so foolish! So naive! So ignorant! I know I shouldn't have tried to go against the laws of nature and bring my mum back to life! I know I should have taken more time to think before I trapped Alphonse in the armor! I know I should have seen the signs of what that bastard Tucker was going to do! I'm sorry I didn't! I'm so sorry!" And he felt tears flow from his eyes. He tasted the saltiness as they cascaded down his cheeks and past his lips, into his mouth. He cried, and apologized, and cried, because he wasn't strong enough anymore to not cry.

The kicking stopped.

Edward looked up, and saw Mustang walking back towards Truth, and, with one final, evil smirk behind him toward Ed, he disappeared into thin air with a small popping noise.

"W-where did Mustang go?" Edward asked.

"That is none of your concern." Truth said. "Good job. You figured it out. You figured out what has been haunting you. But now it's time to wake up, Edward Elric."

"Huh?" Suddenly, Edward felt an exploding pain in his head. He cried out, clutching his skull with his hand.

"Wake up, Edward." Truth repeated.

"Why?" Edward asked. Suddenly, pain flared in his entire being, and he screamed.

"WAKE UP!"

And he did. But he wished afterwards he hadn't.


	12. Chapter Twelve

When Jean thought about it, Edward had been acting really odd lately. No, scratch that, since he had rejoined the military a month ago. He'd been all cheerful and outgoing as long as Jean had known him, but since that call to the Fuhrer's office his first day on the job, he'd been more closed off than usual. He'd kept to himself all the time, he was really jumpy, and he didn't make jokes. He handled his work with a fierce determination that bordered on perfectionist obsession, then, as soon as he was finished, he would seclude himself in the firing range. Jean had visited him once when he'd gone down there, and he had been absolutely astonished at how excellent his aim was. The whole time Jean had watched him, he hadn't missed once, and he'd set the target all the way back to one hundred and twenty feet already. His focus was intense and a little scary. no kid should look that way Edward did while doing his work or shooting a gun, yet Ed did, and it gave Jean the feeling that something was seriously wrong with the kid.

He'd tried talking to him, honestly tried, but Edward refused to confide in anybody what was bothering him, not even Mustang, who, as word had gotten round pretty quickly, was now his legal guardian, whom he was living with. But maybe that was what was wrong with him, he pondered as he walked toward the firing range to practice with his rifle. It was no secret that Ed and Roy had never exactly gotten along. Maybe that was why he was so bothered, maybe he just didn't like living with Mustang.

But there was also his movements that were troubling.

As much as Edward tried to hide it, Jean couldn't help but notice that the kid always seemed to be limping. Once, last week, Jean had covertly watched him leave the office, heading, predictably, toward the firing range, and he had noticed that every step Ed took a look of agony flashed through his golden eyes, and, another time, three days ago, Jean had walked into the men's bathroom, and caught Ed looking at a terrible bruise on his side, over the ribs, which Edward hastily covered up when he realized Jean was there. He had asked him how he'd gotten it, and Edward had smiled and set he'd tripped on his way down the stairs that morning, but Jean thought it had sounded extremely rehearsed. He hadn't believed Edward for a second, but he didn't drill him about it either. After all, everyone had something they wanted to hide, and it wasn't fair to try and force a person to reveal secrets they didn't want to. It wasn't like it was a child abuse investigation or something absurd like that. But, all the same, he still wished Ed would open up to him a bit, or Mustang. Mustang would be able to help him; Mustang knew how to help everybody. Jean wished Hawkeye still worked at the office, she would know what to say to him. As much as he envied her home-working hours, he wished she'd come back to the office. Mustang was doing a lot off slacking without her here.

He sighed as he reached the entrance to the firing range, grabbing a rifle and a pair of earmuffs, and he put them on as he signed his name on the record sheet, right under Edward's. He walked inside and the sound of gunshots echoed across the walls, and he walked into the booth next to where Edward was rapidly firing bullets from his handgun.

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

Heart, head, left hand, right hand, left leg, right leg, stomach. Holy shit, this kid was expert. Already! Jean had to admit to himself that even he wasn't quite that perfect in his aim. Jean put his hand on Ed's shoulder as he passed, and the kid jumped a mile, accidentally loosing two more bullets (right shoulder, right rib-cage) in his fright. He whirled round, eyes wide with terror, but he relaxed when he realized it was just Jean. He blew out a breath, yanked the earmuffs of his head, and said sorry.

"You okay, Edward?" Jean asked skeptically. "You've been jumpy like this for weeks." Since you moved in with Mustang, he left unsaid.

"Fine." Edward said coldly, shoving his earmuffs back on his head and turning back to the target, taking aim, and firing another three bullets (eye, eye, mouth). Jean decided that he'd had enough of Edward dodging the question, despite his earlier thoughts on the matter. It was probably just his temper flaring, but he did it anyway. He yanked Ed's muffs right off his head and grabbed the gun, easing it out of Ed's hand before he could react. He put them on the bench beside him, along with his own rifle, knowing he should put the safety on Ed's gun back on first but not bothering. Ed growled at him like a feral dog and demanded Havoc give them back, but he ignored him, grabbing the kid by the shoulders and gently shaking him. Edward winced at the contact but didn't try to get out of his grip. It was almost...submissive, and that bothered Jean like crazy. The Ed he'd known back when he was a State Alchemist would have gone all kung-fu-karate on him and done some sort of fancy flip to get him off, but this new, timid Ed didn't even try. He just squeezed his eyes shut and stood still.

"You listen to me, Ed!" Jean growled. "And look at me!" Edward slowly opened his eyes, and it pained Jean to see the fear in them, but he needed to do this. Someone had to know what was wrong with Ed, and it might as well be him. "Something's obviously wrong with you! You're not acting like yourself! You won't talk to anyone, you won't look at anyone! You get jumpy whenever you're near anyone or when someone so much as pats you on the shoulder, and you're always limping!" The look of shock on Edward's face told him that Ed had thought he'd managed to successfully hide the limping. "Don't act so surprised Ed, it's really obvious you're hurt somewhere! And care to explain that damn huge bruise I saw three days ago! There's no way in Hell I'm gonna believe that that was from falling down the Goddamn stairs!"

"I told you how it happened." Edward whispered, his voice shaking. "It's not my fault if you don't believe me."

"And the limp?" Jean asked.

"You saw the bruise!" Edward hissed. "What, you think that it's painless to walk with?"

As much as Jean didn't believe him, he had a good point there. But. "You said you got that bruise that morning. You've been limping pretty much since you started working back at the military." Since you moved in with Mustang. And what about all the flinching when you get near people, or when people talk to you, or when someone touches you?"

"I don't like other people touching me." Edward said, in an obvious attempt to sound casual, but failing considerably in the act.

"You also don't appear to like being near other people, or talking to them. You're not acting like yourself. I know it's different in the military but it's not a complete character changer. You've been like this ever since you moved in with..." And realization dawned on him. "...Mustang. Dammit, if you won't talk I'll just ask him the Hell myself!" He let Edward go, picked up his rifle and stormed off.

"No!" Edward cried, obvious desperation in his voice.

"Ed?" He said, looking over his shoulder. Edward was shaking furiously now, his eyes were wide and Jean thought he saw tears gathered there.

"Please, please don't talk to Mustang. Please don't say anything to him." The boy pleaded.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Edward shook his head after a moment, his face falling. "Then I have to." Jean finished, leaving the room and returning the equipment, not having fired one single bullet. He stormed to Mustang's office, rage burning inside him, like a fire that someone poured a carload of gasoline on. In no time at all he was there, and he requested to speak privately with Mustang, and Roy agreed, to the rest of his staff left and it was just the two of them.

"You wanted to speak privately with me, Lieutenant Havoc?" Mustang asked, his voice touched with curiosity.

"Yes, sir, it's about Edward." Jean said. Mustang's eyes narrowed.

"What about him?" He asked.

"Sir, something's wrong with him. I don't mean to imply anything here, but, ever since he moved in with you, he's been limping, he avoids other people like the plague, and he's really jumpy. Just now, down at the firing range, I patted his shoulder and he nearly hit the roof in fright. Also, sir, a few days ago, I walked into the bathroom, and I saw him looking at a huge bruise on his rib-cage. He told me he fell down the stairs, but I don't believe him, sir."

"Lieutenant Havoc," Roy said slowly, "Forgive me if I'm wrong here, but, it sounds to me as though you're implying that I am harming Lieutenant Elric."

"Not at all, sir!" Havoc said quickly, but something he couldn't pinpoint felt fishy to him. "Actually, my particular train of thought was that someone had discovered he'd moved into your home and decided to use that to their advantage, sir!"

"How so?" Mustang tilted his head questioningly.

"I think that perhaps someone began hurting him after he moved in with you, so as to make it look like it was you doing it, sir!" Jean explained.

"I'm glad you weren't thinking what I thought you were." Mustang said.

"No, sir! I know you're not so sadistic." Havoc confirmed, and a brief flash of something, but he could not determine what, crossed Roy's face.

"Good. But who do you think would be doing such a thing?"

"I don't know, sir, Edward refuses to tell me anything. But I am worried, sir. No matter his reputation, he's just a child." He added, his voice lowering.

"Agreed. Perhaps I should stop him from taking his walks around town at night." Mustang said.

"He goes for walks?"

"Every night." Mustang confirmed. "But if someone is hurting him while he does so, then I'll put a stop to that right away."

"Thank you, sir! I can relax now." Havoc breathed in relief. "Well, sir, if I may leave now, I think I'll head up to the mess hall for lunch."  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Edward."

Ed accidentally (for the second time that day) fired two shot from his handgun in fright of the calm voice behind him. Shaking, he put the gun's safety on and turned around, lowering the gun. Mustang was there behind him, and he did not look happy. His narrow eyes were even narrower, his brow creased in a frown. His black eyes were cold and focused, but there was fury in them. "We're in public, you can't hurt me here." Edward whispered, half to Mustang and half to himself, without thinking.

"That is how you greet your superior?" Mustang asked, raising an eyebrow but not dropping the cold gaze.

"No, sir. Sorry, sir." Edward said, dropping his head to look at his oh-so-fascinating shoes. "You wanted to speak to me, sir?"

"What did you tell Havoc?" Mustang demanded, his voice clipped.

"Nothing!" Edward said quickly, too quickly. He cursed himself for answering so hurriedly, now Mustang would get suspicious, even thought there was nothing to be suspicious about.

"You know what I think?" Mustang whispered, Edward only just hearing him over the sound of guns being fired.

"N-no." Ed stuttered, still looking at his feet.

"I think," He put his pointer-finger under Edward's chin and lifted it up, so that Ed was forced to look the bastard in his cold, black eyes that resembled a black hole, "You're lying." Edward began to tremble, wishing, in that split second of terror, that he'd just confessed everything to Havoc. That he'd told the man holding concern for him everything that Mustang was doing to him, that he'd let everything out and escaped the nightmare he was living in. The nightmare that refused to end. He wished he'd confided in Havoc, or Hawkeye or Winry or ANYONE. He wished he'd just swallowed his pride and told someone. In that split second, he'd also forgotten about Alphonse and Teacher, and the weight that had been sitting on his shoulders doubled. He couldn't tell, couldn't confide, because that would mean certain death for Al, certain death for Teacher. And, it would also mean that he himself would face the firing squad. He wasn't as concerned for his own life as he was for Al's and his Teacher's. Not that that meant that he would happily die. He didn't want that. He wanted to live. But if he told anyone, anyone at all, it was undeniable that he wouldn't.

"Come, Lieutenant, let's go outside for a moment. Get some fresh air."

"Y-y-y-yes sir." Edward suppressed a sob. He was not weak, he would not cry. The fact that he had endured Mustang's pointless punishments for so long was proof of that, surely, but sometimes he doubted it. Sometimes he wondered if it was weakness that forced him to sit still, like a good little child, while Mustang beat him to a bloody pulp, night after night. He wondered if it was because he was weak, too weak to summon the courage to deal with it and find a way to avoid it. Too weak to think of a way out of it. For a while he'd considered himself strong, strong that he could endure without caving, but that was just arrogance, he'd come to the conclusion that strength would be forcing Mustang to stop the needless pain, the pointless suffering, maybe dish some of it out himself, but then he would be as low as Mustang himself.

He couldn't make up his mind what was strength and what was weakness anymore.

He followed Mustang outside, putting everything away first. He knew what was going to happen once they were gone from eyesight of anyone within the building. He knew what he would have to ignore for the next however-long-it-took. He knew that as soon as they were completely out of the human population's sight, Edward would be cornered and interrogated. And by interrogated, he meant beaten.

He kept his strides as short as possible, walking as slowly as he could get away with. They passed several other soldiers on their way out of the building, all of them beneath Mustang, who was a General, and most of them above Ed, who was a Lieutenant. Edward did his best to ignore the whispering that always erupted around him wherever he went. It was always something like, 'look, that's the Fullmetal Alchemist' or 'damn kid stole my rank' or 'what does the military think they're doing, hiring a kid who hasn't even gone through the academy' and crap like that. He did his best not to hear, but sometimes it was impossible not to hear their bickering, or their misguided awe, or their hatred. Sometimes it was impossible not to believe what they were saying, that he was a nobody who didn't deserve his rank, that he was a cheater for skipping the academy, that he should never have been allowed to rejoin the military in the first place. He was grateful for the money the job was sending to his bank account, maybe, if he saved up these next four years he was stuck with that damned General, maybe he would be able to afford a house later on, or maybe even a car.

"Why is that brat always limping?"

He froze, whipping his head around to the group of soldiers collected behind him. Their talking ceased immediately, but, judging by the stars on their uniform, two of them were ranked one place above him (they were Captains), one of them shared his rank as a Lieutenant, there was a Second Lieutenant and a Sergeant. "You got a problem with me?" He snarled at them , completely disregarding the fact that he shouldn't be talking to at least the Captains in this manner, but he didn't give a damn. "You got a problem with the way I walk?"

Fear swelled in all of their eyes for a moment, before the Captains remembered they were ranked higher than him, and that they didn't have to take it. "Mind your tone, Lieutenant." One of them said, a man in his forties with graying hair and narrow green eyes.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot that I can't react when people call me a brat and make fun of my limp!" He growled at them. He flinched when Mustang put a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, Lieutenant Elric. I'm sure the good Captain didn't mean anything by it. Although, I must say I don't approve of your conduct, Captain." His voice sounded cold, but Edward couldn't tell if the coldness was towards him, or towards the Captain. The Captain apparently thought it was for him, because he backed down pretty quickly. Ed hoped that the Captain was right about it, though, it would only make his situation worse if the General got mad at him even more so than he already was. He couldn't risk it, he was already pretty sure he wouldn't survive if he was beaten too many more times. He estimated four or five of Mustang's beatings before he would finally have to give in and go to hospital under the pretense of being attacked. The last thing he needed right now was an extra special beating to add to his overflowing pile of them.

"Let's go, Lieutenant." Mustang said.

"Yes, sir, General Mustang." Edward replied, saluting and throwing one last murderous glance at the group of soldiers before jogging painfully and lopsided to catch up with Mustang, who had already departed at a brisk pace.

"Sir?" Edward asked tentatively, once they had finally arrived outside, the question on his lips burning to be asked.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" The General snapped.

"Sir, why did you defend me back there?" He wondered aloud. It made no sense for the man who was abusing him to defend him, no sense at all.

"Another officer was insulting you. I won't allow my subordinates to be mistreated like that. Edward, you are part of my immediate staff, and you should know that that means you are part of my family." Mustang informed him.

"I didn't know it was the job of the older family members to beat the younger ones." Edward said softly. "But then, what would I know? My father left when I was really young and my mother died soon after." He laughed dryly. "Guess I was never taught what real families are like."

Mustang stopped, and turned to look at him. There was something in his eyes that Edward had no recollection of ever seeing there before, or, at least, not since the beatings had started. Those cruel black eyes had softened, somewhat. They held...pity. And sorrow. Edward's own eyes narrowed, it was a shock to say the least, seeing what he saw there. "No, you were." He said. His voice was low, and sounded...almost regretful. "You're right, that's not the job of the elder in the family. I shouldn't be...I guess I...I don't know, Ed. You never really had a dad in your life, and Hawkeye told me once that I should be the one to take that role, but, I guess I didn't do a good job, did I?" He laughed, but it sounded forced. He threw his head back and stopped, staring at the wall for a moment. Edward was watching him intently. His brain refused to process what he'd just heard. It sounded to him like Mustang was trying to say- "Sorry." He looked back down at Ed, and suddenly he looked incredibly older than he was. He looked miserable, and his small smile wasn't fooling Ed for a moment. He saw sincerity in those midnight eyes, but he couldn't believe it. It would be foolish. He laughed at himself.

"Sorry? For what? For beating me to a damn bloody pulp? For ripping me away from my fiancee so that you can get a better chance to beat me? For using my brother and my teacher as unknowing hostages so I won't tell a soul? Is that what you're sorry for, Mustang?" He took a step away, but he put too much weight on his right leg and tightened the muscles on his side, pain flaring up from within the bruised flesh and causing him to gasp, clutch his side in his hands, and lean against a wall, staring up at his abusive superior through his golden bangs. "Is that what you're sorry for?" He repeated, his voice strained with pain, refusing to go any higher than a whisper.

Mustang was silent, watching Edward with obvious hurt in his eyes. It was as though he'd suddenly had this great epiphany, but Edward didn't believe it would last. He wasn't foolish enough to hope that the older man's regret would last any longer than right now. They would go home, and Mustang would beat him up again, just like he did every night. Ed wasn't stupid enough to raise his hopes. It would just cause more pain later to do so.

Apparently not knowing how to say one simple word, Mustang eventually nodded. "Yeah, sure you are, General." Ed hissed through the pain radiating from his side. "Are we done here, can I go? Or are you gonna do what you came out here to do? 'Cause we both know what that was."

"You -you were telling the truth when you said you didn't tell Havoc anything, right?" Mustang asked, his eyes lowered to the ground and his voice sounding defeated.

"Yeah, I didn't say a damn single thing to him, and he's been pestering me about it for ages. Well, you gonna beat me or not?" Ed answered and asked, not really sure what Mustang would say.

"Thanks, you can go, and no, I'm not gonna do that to you anymore. I'm gonna treat you like a father should treat his son from here on out." He said, raising his head to look Edward in the eye.

"Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts, won't we?" Edward spat, slowly pushing himself off of the wall and walking tot he mess hall to grab some grub.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

It had been three days, and so far, the General had kept his promise not to hurt Ed again. Edward was having severe difficulty believing that this was actually true, and kept expecting Mustang to cave in and hit him at some point, but, as of yet, that hadn't happened. For Edward, it was like a hurricane had passed by, taking away everything he held dear and destroying it (His fiancee, his house, his health, his pride), and then, after rampaging non-stop for a period of time that seemed to never end, it abruptly ceased, leaving Edward standing alone and trembling in the wreckage. He hadn't yet stopped flinching at everything that got close to him, but his injuries were slowly beginning to feel less and less fatal. Some of the older bruises had begun to clear up that morning, not having been subjected to any extra punishment. His cracked ribs were still giving him hurry-curry, but he was used to that particular pain already. The various burns that painted his skin were still just that -burning, and they weren't ever going away, they would stay on his skin long after the pain had faded. Just another collection of scars to add to his collection, he supposed.

He sighed, now, recalling the conversation from the first night following Roy's promise.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

They'd been eating dinner, Mustang had cooked pasta with various vegetables, potato, and lettuce. Mustang had also laid out glasses of milk for them both, and that's what had set it all off. Edward flatly refused to drink it, and, after several minutes of heated debate over both Edward's size and the fact that the white crap secreted from a Goddamn cow was supposedly 'healthy' for you, Mustang had lost his temper and quickly jumped out of his chair, slamming his hands on the table and shouted "DRINK THE DAMN MILK!"

Edward had flinched violently, dropping his head so he was looking at his lap and whimpering slightly. His hands had begun to shake already, and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the blow that was surely to come, just as it always did after these arguments, and he had waited for what seemed like an eternity before he heard Mustang's chair scraping the floor (violently flinching, again, at the noise), and Mustang had sighed. He sounded exhausted, and Edward tried his hardest to stop his hand from shaking, but it just refused to do so. Any moment now, any moment, and that blow would come. Mustang must be reverting back to one of his old strategies; waiting just long enough for Edward to relax and think he was safe before launching a wicked blow to his head that sent him flying halfway across the room. But Edward wouldn't fall for it this time. Not this time. He was ready, he wouldn't drop his guard, not this time. He stayed tense, never allowing his mind to trick itself into thinking it was safe, never allowing Mustang to trick him into thinking he was safe.

The blow was coming, any moment now, he just had to wait a little longer, just a little -

"I'm not going to hit you, Edward." Mustang said, breaking the crushing silence that had followed his outburst. He sounded sincere, but Edward refused to believe that he was safe. It wasn't possible, never, ever possible, to be safe around Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, the great Hero of Ishval, the - "Edward, I swear to God I won't hit you. I promised you earlier today that I wouldn't, didn't I?"

"Promises are made to be broken, General." Edward said through gritted teeth, still refusing to open his eyes, still refusing to relax his tense body. "But you already know that, don't you?"

"What are you talking about, Ed?" Mustang asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you bastard. You know what promise I mean." Edward spat.

"I swear I don't -"

"You know what I mean!" Edward snarled, clenching his fists even tighter under the table.

"Edward." Mustang said after a few beats. "Ed, I -"

"Well, what's wrong? Not gonna reprimand me for being improper towards my superior, sir?" Edward challenged. "Not gonna beat me senseless for opening my worthless trap? What's the matter with you, General? Normally you've already started! Go on, you know you want to! You and I both know you're just itching to hit my ugly face, put some nice bruises on it, maybe give me a black eye to match the colour of your damned soul! You know you want to kick me, break my ribs, you know you want to burn me with those precious gloves of yours!" He finally opened his eyes, standing up from his chair (it went flying behind him) and slamming his own hands on the table. "Well, General? Get to it, you abusive mother fuc-"

"THAT IS ENOUGH EDWARD!" Mustang bellowed. Edward flinched, froze, and locked his eyes with Mustang's. They were furious, yet, at the same time, he seemed to be wounded. Edward internally scoffed; after all Mustang had done to him, after everything he'd threatened to do, he had no right to feel wounded.

"That. Is. Enough. I know what I've done, dammit! I know everything I've done to you is wrong and I know I deserve to rot in Hell for it all, but God f&cking dammit I'm sorry! I don't know what the f&ck was wrong with me, why the Hell I did the things I did, I don't know. I can't even remember why or when the idea first came into my damned head! But I swear I am so, so sorry!"

Silence.

"Sorry?" Edward laughed at last. "You're sorry? That's it? You think that one meaningless apology and we're gonna be fine again? You think we can go back to being friends after this? Well, do you? You know what, I don't even care what goes on in that thick head of yours -"

"Now you listen to me Edward -" Mustang began, but Ed cut him off.

"No, you listen to me, bastard! Let me spell it all out for you, everything you've done to me, from beginning to end! Let me narrate the whole lot to you, because I don't know where your head was while it was all happening, but it certainly wasn't here! Now, first time was-"

"I know what I did, Ed! You don't need to -"

"Oh yes, I do. You think you''re sorry now? Well, let's see if you still are by the time I'm done!

"First time, my seventeenth birthday, remember? You were partially drunk. You lured me out into the warehouse district and started burning me because I hugged Riza. Then you punched me, kicked me, screamed at me, etcetera. You seemed to be under the delusion that I was having an affair with Colonel Hawkeye, although how the Hell that thought managed to cross your mind I have no idea. After I finally convinced you that I wasn't, in fact, having an affair with her, you threatened to dob in my brother to the court martial office if I ever told, and we went home, told them the cover up story, and all was well and good, you never bothered me again.

"Wrong.

"Later that night, in fact, was the second time you beat me. There was no reason for this one, though, except for your own damn bloodlust. I hadn't managed to get any sleep, at least not to my memory, so I went into the kitchen to get an apple, and then you started talking to me real low and menacing like, calling me your inferior, pipsqueak, shrimp, the usual pathetic insults. I tried to punch your smug face, because you were beginning to piss me the Hell off, but you caught my punch, told me that you could let it pass, for no other reason than you wouldn't be able to explain away my oh-so-suddenly destroyed hand. In my stupid usual rage, I then tried to kick you, and here's where things get real interesting. You yanked on my hand, I lost my balance and I fell on the floor, and you wanna know what you did? You started stomping your foot on my back. Again, and again, and again and again and again, until my back felt like it was being hit with a dozen sledgehammers.

"Third time, the next afternoon at lunch, actually. I'd gone for a walk to clear my head and you, being the bastard you are, followed me. Caught me at the park, in the surrounding nature zone. Pinned me against a tree, and after a small minute of pointless monologue that I didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to, you started ramming your fists into me. I can't remember how long that one went on for, I was a tad bit dizzy from all the hits to my Goddamned head, but I'm pretty sure it was somewhere around half an hour, maybe an hour later when you burned me for the last time. It was on my hips, remember? One great big scar for each side. They still hurt." He added darkly, swapping from his fake cheerfulness, then reverting back to it as he continued.

"Fourth time, the day after. You spent a good ten minutes burning my abdomen, didn't you? Yeah, that one still flares up a lot, so sometimes I'll just be walking around, or sometimes even just sitting, minding my own business, and bam, random flare of pain. You also kicked me a whole lot, at one point you even dislocated my shoulder. And let me tell you, it wasn't much fun popping that back into place.

"Day after that, you chased me up a tree. I had to jump to the tree next to us just to get away from you. A few cracked ribs, few giant-ass bruises, cuts, scrapes, gashes, the whole kit-and-caboodle. Ran for my life after that while you were still working your way down the tree. The rain I only just managed to miss, thankfully. Once I got back to the apartment, Riza did her best to patch me up and then tried to grill me as to who it was who was doing it to me. I didn't tell her, obviously, you'd made sure of that, but, to be honest, it's obvious she's in love with you, so she would never have believed me even if I had. Probably would have tried to pin it on Envy. Where did he get off to, by the way? I never got round to asking."

Mustang looked shocked at the sudden change of topic, although he may have been holding that look for a while already, actually. After a few beats, he composed himself and answered the question. "Envy got away. My team and I tracked him for several miles after we found him leaving the barn where he'd left you. But once the snow got too heavy it was impossible to continue, the trail had gotten easier to follow for a while, thanks to the light snow, he was leaving heavy footprints, but once it started plowing down on us my men couldn't see their hands in front of their faces, and we decided we should pull back before Envy realized our disadvantage and tried to attack us."

"Oh, I see." Edward mumbled, disappointed that they hadn't managed to catch the Homunculus that had spent months torturing him, but, at the same time, relieved that they had backed out before Envy had realized his advantage, which, as Edward was only too familiar with, he would have used to it's fullest extent; he would have slaughtered the lot of them.

"Now, back to the story." He said. "Now, if it weren't for the fact that you were using alchemy to burn me, I probably would have thought the same thing, but, as I said, alchemy gave you away. Homunculi can't use it, which meant that it was the real you.

"And then there was the collapsing of Central Command, and Riza and Winry went off to help however they could, leaving me 'safely' with you to 'protect' me. Good job doing that, by the way. So, once they were well and truly out of the way, you grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into an alleyway in the mostly abandoned part of Central. I honestly can't remember the finer details of the beating, because it was an unusually long and brutal one, even by your standards, Mustang. There was blood running all over the shop, as I recall. Most of my ribs were broken, my arm was broken...or was it just my wrist? I can't remember, I just know that it hurt like a motherf&cker. You completely destroyed my auto-mail leg, and it took Winry a full two weeks to make another one completely from scratch once she was let out of the hospital. She wasn't able to catch a break, thanks to you. I remember you making a bunch of lame dog analogies that were really, really outdated and really, really lame, by the way.

"And that's when you made the lowest blow you could. Do you remember what it was?" Mustang only hung his head, beginning to look truly disturbed at the recalling of his own damnable actions. "I remember you telling me I was an insolent brat, and I said you sounded like a parent, and what did you say?" Edward paused for dramatic effect, and Mustang put his head in his hand, groaning. "Look at me, you bastard." Edward whispered. "We're not even at the best part." Slowly, Mustang pulled his hand from his face and, with what looked like a great amount of effort, he continued to watch Ed, revulsion at himself evident in his coal-black eyes. Good, hate yourself, Mustang, Edward thought, you deserve it. "You said, 'why would anyone want to be your father, you little f*ck, you're own father didn't even want you.'"

"Oh, God, I said that?" Mustang whispered.

"Oh yeah, you said it all right. Those were your exact words." Edward whispered back.

"Holy crap, I deserve to rot in Hell just for that." Roy groaned.

"Yeah, no kidding." Ed said sarcastically before continuing with his tale. "After that, you started ranting about me rejoining the military and becoming your Lieutenant and some legal sh!t about my age and blah blah bah, and then, when I refused to do it, you brought my Teacher into the mix, as if my brother wasn't bad enough. I had no choice, did I? So you told me the elaborate story that was going to magically explain away my injuries and then whisked me away to the hospital, where I discovered that my fiancee had had her face horribly burned trying to save Maria Ross from a fire. And then there was three magical weeks where I didn't have to look at your pompous, abusive face. Good times, those were. Winry and I bought a house here in Central, I went back to my psychiatrist and he helped me somewhat to get over some of the mental pain, helped stop the nightmares that had resurfaced since you started using me as your personal punching bag. And life was good. But then my term in the military started up, and it all went to sh!t. You ripped me away from all of that, made me sell my house, made me ship off my fiancee three hours away to Rush Valley, where I still to this day haven't managed to find the time to even call her, by the way. I can't use the military lines for personal calls unless I want to get court-martialled and it's not like you ever let me anywhere near the phone here. So now I can't even help her deal with her own pain with losing half her face, and I'm stuck here with you.

"It's been one month since my contract with the military began, and every single night since the night I came here, what have you done? Sure, you've given me dinner each night, but I have no idea how you live without meat, the vegetables and pasta got real old real quick, but you never let me take the time to eat breakfast. My first meal of the day is lunch in the mess hall at H.Q, and that stuff is good, love the meat, cooked to perfection, but it doesn't do me much good in the morning. I've gotten really thin, have you noticed? You probably haven't, I doubt you take the time to notice while you're beating me senseless, but I can count each and every one of my ribs just by sliding my fingertips down my side, like this." He displayed the action, slowly brushing his thumb down his ribs, not bothering to count them again, but just doing it for show.

Mustang looked like he was about to vomit his food.

"Back to the initial question, what you've done for me each and every single night is beat me, burn me and let's put it this way, the strongest scent in my room? Blood. That's pretty much all I can smell when I'm in there now. Just the smell of my own blood to get me to sleep. Real comforting, it is. Real comforting.

"I remember I think it was three or four nights ago, I finally asked you what the Hell was the reasoning for doing all of this to me. Did you get off on it or something. You never answered me, you just started hitting my face harder and harder, but I could see the answer right there in your eyes. That gleam they always got every time you hit me, every time you burned me, it was impossible not to see and read once I looked hard enough. It makes you feel strong, doesn't it? Makes you feel powerful, in control. You like being in control, don't you, Colonel?"

"General." Mustang corrected.

"Example number one. You have to be in control of everything, and being Colonel just didn't cut it, did it? Nope, you had to get smug with the Fuhrer so you could worm your way all the way up to General. That was right after we defeated the guy that called himself Father, and the Homunculi, if I remember correctly. Grumman managed to secure himself the position of Fuhrer, because he was the highest ranking officer after all the Senior Staff involved with Father's plans were eliminated. You requested a meeting with him, remember? And you came right out of that meeting as a newly elected General. You did a lot in the final battle, so lot's of people say your massive promotion was well deserved.

"But there were other people that helped, too.

"I was glad to here that Hawkeye jumped from Lieutenant to Colonel. Fuery went from Sergeant Major to Second Lieutenant, Breda went from Second Lieutenant to a Major...but then here's the interesting bit. Havoc only went from a Second to a First Lieutenant...not such a big jump there for someone who was vital in the weapons division of the attack. And then there's Major Armstrong, who, after all he did, to this day he is still just a Major. How exactly is that fair? It isn't, you jumped a total of four ranks, and Major Armstrong didn't even go up a single place? It just goes to show how hungry for power you are. I think you cheated, Mustang, made some sort of deal with the Fuhrer to get yourself all the way up to second place on the scoreboard. But you still have your ambitions, I assume?" He asked.

"And what do my ambitions have to do with you, Elric?" Mustang asked, beginning to sound annoyed.

"Everything, actually. It means that you can't be happy until you have absolute control over everything. Including, me. You aren't happy unless you control my every movement. Where I live, how I live, even who I talk to. You want complete and utter control over me, you want total dominance over my very being. So you beat me up, to make yourself feel like you are the one in control, like no one is higher than you, because you just can't be happy otherwise. Without dominance over me, you can't feel that sick high that you wouldn't be able to find anywhere else, unless of course you resorted to drugs, but that wouldn't suit you because then you would just start to fall down, instead of rising up.

"You might not want to admit it, General, but you get off on hurting me, and you know you do." Edward finished.

Mustang was silent for so long that Edward began to wonder if maybe he was somewhere else, but then he spoke, and his voice was heavy with grief that Edward didn't buy. "You're right." He choked. "I did get off on it. It made me feel so powerful, so in control, so high, like I was up in the clouds, like everything would be great as long as I was causing you pain. And that fact never bothered me, not one bit. At least, not until today."

"Oh yeah, tell me, why did the fact that you got off on beating up a seventeen year old suddenly lose it's appeal?" Edward asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"It was when those soldiers were making fun of you, bitching about your limp, I think that's what got the ball rolling. It pissed me off, because you're part of my staff, and everyone in my staff I consider to be part of my family, and, seeing as I'm legal guardian over you, you're basically my adopted son. And it made me so angry that they were amusing themselves at your expense -"

"Because that's your job, right?" Edward interrupted.

"Shut up and let me finish!" Mustang snapped. "But it never actually dawned on me why it pissed me off until you asked me, why did I defend you, why, me, who is constantly hurting and abusing you? And as I said it out loud it occurred to me why I did it. You're my family, the son I never had, and I shouldn't be allowing anyone to hurt you.

"And that's when the full weight of what I've been doing finally crashed down on me. What the Hell was wrong with me? I asked myself, what the Hell have I been doing? What the Hell ever possessed me to abuse you so much? And God, I felt like I was going to vomit with the reality of it all." He stopped. He was shaking now, Edward noticed, and a small flower of pleasure bloomed inside him. Finally, it was Mustang who was hurting instead of him. Damn, it had taken long enough.

"God, what have I done?" Mustang sobbed, and Edward saw that there were tears in his eyes. Again, that flower of pleasure bloomed inside him, and it occurred to him that he ought to suppress it, and quickly, before it consumed him and turned him into the monster that stood before him. It was probably this exact flower of pleasure that had started this entire mess in the first place, and now, it seemed, the mess might finally be ending. He didn't want to start it all over again. And, besides, if he gave in to it, let it envelope him, the way Mustang had at the beginning, he would only be lowering himself down to Mustang's level, and he never, ever wanted to become that low. Never. "God, I've made you afraid of everyone! I've hurt you so bad, what have I done? I've made you afraid to be touched, to be talked to, Hell, I've even made you scared of having other people look at you, Goddamn it! I've hurt you so much, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" Wracking sobs escaped him and he had to shove his fist into his mouth just to suppress them. "God, you must hate me. I wouldn't be surprised if you're enjoying seeing me like this. It's not like I don't deserve your hatred, though."

"Yeah, I would be lying to you if I said that I didn't hate your guts." Edward said.

Mustang looked up, charcoal eyes filled with tears that streaked down his face.

"And I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you for all that you've put me through these past two months." Ed continued. Mustang returned his sorry gaze to the floor.

"But." Mustang looked back up again, a small flicker of hope in his eyes that died as quickly as it had come to life when Edward continued. "I can't say that it makes me sad to see you like this, you deserve it, but I can't, I won't, allow myself to enjoy your suffering, because that would only make me as bad as you. Don't get me wrong, though, I'm not gonna come over there and give you a hug and tell you the cliche lies like 'everything's going to be okay', because they're not. And frankly, I really, really don't want to be any nearer to you than I have to be.

"But I refuse to use your pain as a source for my joy, because it's wrong, and sick and twisted, and it reminds me too much of Envy, to be honest. Because that's just what Envy was like. And Lust, too, for that matter. Both of them took such delight in their cruelty, they found their own happiness in the suffering of others, and I can't think of anything more twisted than that, right now. You've recently been reminding me of them, and I was close to considering you a Homunculus. Count yourself lucky I haven't gone that far yet. I'm going to bed, goodnight." He said abruptly, ignoring his half-full plate of food and striding straight up the steps to his room. He slammed his door shut, wishing there was a lock on his door, and collapsed into bed, exhausted by the days events. Having to recount, in detail, everything that Roy Mustang had done to him had taken most of his energy, and now he wanted nothing more than to sleep, and hope that nightmares wouldn't plague him.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Since then, Edward had been doing his very best to ignore his superior's existence. But it wasn't always that easy. Mustang had begun feeding him breakfast now, which was nice, but he always watched him closely as Ed ate his cereal, and it was disturbing, because Edward could not shake away the mental images of a shepherd at the auctions in Resembool, just before the Winter Sheep Festival. He felt like he was being studied, like he was a sheep and Mustang was the shepherd, judging his every move to see whether or not it was worth the money to buy him. It was creepy, to say the least.

There was also the problem of work. Being Mustang's Lieutenant, he was required to run a lot of errands for him throughout the day, and that lead to a lot of lengthy instructions that he had to listen to before he could skip off and follow them. He still flinched at any physical contact made by anyone, and he suspected that after everything that had happened to him with Envy, and now with all the abuse from Mustang piled on top, that he always would. He had talked to Wally about this (neglecting to mention the Mustang abuse part, but managing to string an elaborate web of lies and half-truths to explain his recent decline in progress), and the older man had informed him that he most likely had a minor case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and that, without some sort of miracle from God, it was unlikely that the symptoms would ever fully fade. The nightmares might go away, or they might not, but the flinching at contact would probably stay with him the remainder of his life.

He had spent an excessive amount of time down at the firing range over the past three days, since Mustang's epiphany, and he had finally decided that he had mastered the handgun completely and that it was time to move on to shooting a rifle, like the one Havoc carried. This was significantly harder to adapt to and master, mostly because of it's bulkier weight and it's considerable length, but by the end of the first day he had managed to figure it out enough to shoot two bullets where he wanted them. His spirits had been shot down just a little, he had begun to feel like he had lost his edge, it had been so easy to learn how to properly wield the handgun, so why was it so hard to learn to shoot the rifle? He felt a bit better when Havoc told him it had taken him weeks to even get the bullet close to his target, and Edward felt a lot better. He didn't mean to be vain or anything, but it did seem that he was a prodigy at everything he did.

Today, his spirits had simply soared when he had been told (by Breda) that Colonel Hawkeye had decided to return to the office, as she had become bored with the quiet simplicity of making her own hours at home, and was eager to return to the chaotic hustle that was Military Command. He knew he'd feel a Hell of a lot safer with her around, he liked her and she'd taken such good care of him after he'd left the hospital. Besides, he hadn't even seen her since he'd moved out of her apartment. I would be nice to catch up with her on how she'd been.

It felt like centuries had passed since he'd felt this good.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

The blood.

The blood.

All of the beautiful red blood.

It coated the walls of the small bedroom, staining it forever. It would never be washed away. That was good. The smell of it was intoxicating, like fuel to his fire. It helped in his motivation to do what he was doing, it was like a harvest, a harvest of blood that was going wasted through the harvester's carelessness. But he didn't care, he didn't care about the blood he was spilling, nor how much of it he spilled. The amount didn't bother him. If he killed his victim tonight, he would not be lose any sleep over the loss. Not that it was his intention for the victim to die, no he would much rather the child stay alive, alive to feel the pain another day, but if he did die, well...accidents happen, after all. He was good at what he did, he'd been doing it for a while now, so he knew how to hide things. How to twist the evidence into something completely false, something that pointed away from himself.

The child screamed under him, the noise soothing him, like a lullaby.

He knew he was twisted, knew that he could be deemed the devil himself for what he was doing, for what he was doing had no purpose other than his own sick desires, his own bloodlust and his own preference and need for total dominance. He raked his sharpened nails across the child's already lacerated cheek, and the poor soul screamed again, unable to tolerate the pain any longer. He repeated the action, again and again, until there was no visible skin on the young boy's right cheek left. Just red flesh, torn and bleeding down his face, and still the screams continued. Another rake across the cheek, and, as the boy beneath him failed at halting his own pained scream, he continued raking down the neck, over his shoulder, down his naked side, over his prominent ribs and down his hip, stopping at the hem of the boxer shorts that was all the kid had left on him.

He smiled, and the child's eyes, shadowed in the dim light, glared back up at him defiantly, as though daring the older man to continue. As though he held the power to stop him, if he so chose to rake further downwards.

But, as it was, he had no interest in that field.

He was not a raping man. That type of sex held no appeal to him. What did, however, was beating the boy beneath him until he could no longer stand. He loved making the child feel weak, and worthless. He loved showing the boy who was the master, and who was the slave. It always felt so right, showing the boy how much nothing he was. How powerless he was. And how powerful he was. His obsession with the child invaded his thoughts at all times of the night and day, and it had begun to affect his work, but that was of no consequence; it was easy to hand his work down to his inferiors when he was no longer capable of completing it himself. All that mattered now was the boy who he controlled, in every possible way. He'd shown the boy who was physically and mentally superior, he had cut off all communications with his family members, and now he had even managed to get the child living under his very own roof.

He no less than owned Edward Elric at this point.

Mustang raked his nails back upwards and across, crossing over several old burns, across Edward's abdomen, back up towards his other shoulder. Edward grunted in pain as Roy's sharp nails crossed over his burns, and Roy laughed at his pain. He had missed this, this feeling of twisted pleasure as he dominated the boy. He had missed the way he could hurt Edward in every possible way, and the former alchemist wouldn't even try to fight back. He would just lay there, screaming, as he was torn apart from the outside in. He had been sincere, at first, when he had apologized to Edward for everything he had done. He had honestly regretted his actions, honestly believed that he deserved to rot in Hell for eternity over the things he had put the young man through. He had never lied.

But he had snapped.

Subconsciously, he had known that the twisted demon within him, the one that wanted Edward's blood, would resurface if he wasn't careful. If he didn't control himself, but as the weeks had slowly passed, and Edward had grown more and more relaxed around him, as he had allowed his guard to lower itself, little thoughts had begun to once more invade his mind. Thoughts that told him how easy it would be, right then and there, to hurt the kid, to punch him, to push him over and spill his worthless blood.

At first he had dismissed the thoughts, thinking that perhaps it was as the old saying went; old habits died hard. But as they had become more frequent, he had realized that it was impossible to keep them at bay forever. It just was not possible to come down from such a high point without craving to go back and experience it once more. Roy had never done drugs, and wondered perhaps if this was similar to an addict being forced through a withdrawal. He imagined the two could be related, but, again, as he had never indulged in the killing sickness that was drugs, he would never know for sure.

And, soon enough, he was back to the way he had been before. Constantly thinking of Edward, of all the ways he could hurt him, all the ways he could spill the blood that flowed within him. He had battled his own mind for days on end, until, finally, one day he had fought with Ed, and that was when he could control himself no longer. As far as he could recall, it had been another heated battle about milk. Roy could not understand how the stupid child hated milk, it was a delicacy as far as he was concerned. He loved it, after all, without milk, drinks like coffee, tea and hot chocolate would be disgusting. As well as the fact that it was nutritionally valuable to a person's health, containing plenty of iron that strengthened the bones. Through all the fighting that Edward seemed to do, back when he was an alchemist, it was a wonder his bones ever survived through his lack of consumption of the vital liquid.

Edward had been shouting at him, shouting about how milk was disgusting an it couldn't possibly have any kind of health benefits, and he had slammed his hands on the table, and the impact had sent his plate flying, until it hit the wall and shattered into a million pieces.

They had both frozen, Edward immediately beginning to mutter that he was sorry and that he would clean it up. Roy had said nothing. Edward went to retrieve the broken glass, and Roy had lost all control. He slowly stood up, and, as Edward had bent down, he had thrust the boys face into the shattered glass, burying that slivers into the skin. Edward had screamed, trying to get away, screaming that Roy had promised, that he had promised to never hurt him again, but Roy had, maliciously, repeated words he remembered Edward saying to him weeks earlier.

"Promises are made to be broken, Edward." He had taunted, further pushing down on the boys head, a firm grip in his hair, as Edward struggled desperately to get his face away from the glass that was tearing his face apart. After what could have been seconds, minutes or hours, Roy let him go, commanding him to pick up the broken shards and to put them in the bin. Trembling, the boy had obeyed, and when he was done, Roy had grabbed him by the hair and practically dragged him up the stairs, into Edward's room, where they were now.

Now, Mustang let go of his grip on Edward, still sitting on top of him. He pulled his gloves out of his pocket, making sure Edward saw them as he slowly slipped them over his fingers. Edward's eyes widened in fear and he struggled desperately to get out from underneath Roy, screaming and shrieking that he had had enough, that he couldn't take the pain anymore, that Roy had promised never to do it again. Roy only laughed, gliding his gloved fingers over Edward's writhing form, trying to decide where would be the best place to burn him. The child shivered at his touch, and Roy laughed again.

He finally settled on Ed's left shoulder, and his fingers sat still there for a few moments. Edward stopped moving, to gaze for a moment into Roy's eyes, just like he used to, trying to find any sign of mercy or regret there. Roy gave him nothing to find, and the child sobbed, closed his eyes, and turned his head away, presumably bracing for the intense pain that was about to come. Roy lifted his fingers and instantly snapped his thumb and middles finger together, creating the spark that instantly latched onto the place on Edward's shoulder that he had marked, searing the flesh, turning it first pink, then red, until Edward could hold back his pained shriek of agony no longer. It burst from his lips, like a bomb, and the sound reverberated through the room as his flesh was burned, and to Mustang the sound was like a symphony of music. He felt that familiar butterfly sensation in his chest, and he he didn't bother to try holding back the manic laugh that escaped his lips.

"Stop it you bastard!" Edward screamed as the fire burned his flesh.

"Now now, Edward, is that any way to treat your father?" Roy asked, tsk-ing at his youngest subordinate.

"You're not my father, bastard, you're just the bastard who - aaaaaaaarrrrggggghhhhhhh!" Mustang made the flames hotter, causing Edward to be cut off mid-sentence by his own screams.

"That will teach you to call me a bastard, you disrespectful child." Mustang said to him, calling off the flames, which sputtered for a moment before dying. Edward fought to control his ragged panting, and Roy watched him struggle, smiling pitilessly down at him. He knew what it was like to be burned, but damn, it was so much better when you weren't the one experiencing the agony that accompanied the raging fires. Tears streamed down the boy's eyes, streaking his face. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and while the right side of his face was torn apart from Roy's nails, the rest of it was lacerated from assorted cuts from the glass Mustang had shoved Edward's face into earlier that night. Pulling his gaze away from Edward's face, down his neck, and onto the shoulder he had just burned, Roy admired his handiwork. It was red raw in places, but burned black in others. The skin surrounding the area that he had burned was a bright, flaring pink, and he imagines=d it was quite sensitive. He prodded it with his fingers, and Edward whimpered.

He poked harder, and Ed's whimper turned into a strangled sob, and he pressed his fingers hard into the abused skin and he yelped in pain, flinching away from the older man and began once again to struggle, to uselessly try to fight his way out from under Mustang, who had him pinned securely to the floor between his own legs.

"Sshhh." He whispered, leaning down so his face was close to Edwards, his left hand on the floor by his side, supporting his weight, while his right hand began absently stroking the boy's golden hair. "It's okay, you'll be fine. It's only a little pain, Edward. You can push through a little bit of pain, can't you?"

"Don't touch me!" Edward hissed between clenched teeth, his eyes fixed closed, refusing to look at his tormentor's face. Edward stopped struggling for a moment, though, and as Roy kept whispering softly to him, Edward spat in his face. Roy stopped whispering words of comfort to the boy immediately, pulling his fingers out of Ed's hair and wiping the spit off of his face. He growled.

"That was a mistake." He snarled at Edward, who squeezed his eyes even tighter and turned his head away, obviously expecting a shattering blow. But Roy didn't do that. He didn't punch him, or ram his elbow into his nose, he didn't even burn him again. What he did was entangle his right fist back into Edward's long golden locks, and pull, hard.

Edward yelped and squirmed as Mustang tugged continuously on his hair, whimpering and pleading softly for him to stop. For the pain to stop. For it all to just stop. But Roy wasn't to be distracted so easily. He continued to pull harshly on the child's hair, until strands of it began to fall slowly to the floor. Then he stopped, but only to pull the annoying things from between his fingers, discarding them beside him as Edward continued to squirm beneath him. "What should I do to you know, hmm?" He wondered aloud.

"Leave me the Hell alone?" Edward suggested, peeking through his eyelids.

"No, that would be..." He paused for a moment, trying to think of the right word. "Counterproductive." He decided on at last.

"Goddammit." Edward muttered, trying to make his voice sound like he was just joking around with the man who was putting him in so much pain. He failed.

"Hmm." Roy contemplated what to do with the child next, his fingers slipping back into Edward's hair, absentmindedly curling it around his fingers, then stroking it, then curling it again. He liked the feel of Edward's soft hair on hie fingers, even if it was through the gloves. He decided to take them off, deciding that he wasn't going to burn Edward again tonight. He stuffed them back into his breast pocket and returned his hand to Edward's hair, quietly and in-discernibly murmuring to the boy words of comfort, trying to think of what to do now. It wouldn't be very productive to end it now, although even he had to admit that he was suddenly craving the comforts of a warm bed; the temperature in Edward's room had dropped considerably since he'd brought the child up here. But after already telling Ed he wouldn't be leaving him just yet it would be stupid to go back on what he'd said.

Maybe he should rake his nails across his face again? No, that wouldn't do.

He'd already decided that he didn't want to burn him again, not tonight anyway...

Maybe he should just go back to the good old punch, kick, punch, hit routine. He hadn't done that as of yet tonight, really.

Yeah, that would do just fine.

He carefully slid off the young boy, being careful to keep a strong grip on his wrists in case he tried to lash out, and rolled the boy over, onto his stomach. Edward whimpered as his inflamed shoulder was forced to endure pressured contact with the hard floor, but didn't make any other sound. Now that he'd rolled Edward over, the thought occurred to him that his usual violence just wasn't going to cut it tonight. He wanted to do something different. He wanted to hurt Edward in a way he hadn't done before. He wanted to rip his flesh apart.

Quickly he jabbed his pointer and middle fingers of his right hand into the fold of skin between Edward's shoulder blade and his ribs. His sharp nails broke through the soft skin instantly and Edward fought back a scream as Mustang's finger punctured flesh. Slowly, Mustang spread the fingers apart, widening the hole he'd made. Edward struggled and lost the battle, and the scream tore from his throat and Mustang pressed harder, more ferociously, spreading them apart even more as he did so. Blood flowed from the wound like a tap and stained his fingers, spreading over Edward's back and falling over his sides, into the floor. Edward screamed again and Roy twisted his fingers around, and Edward's screams became inhuman shrieks of pure agony.

Roy laughed, pulling his fingers out, and even more blood gushed from the wound. Mustang did the same thing on the other shoulder, bringing his fingers up to his head, then swiftly jabbing them downwards, with as much force as he could muster. The sound of flesh splitting was drowned out by Edward's screaming, and Roy pushed down as hard as he could, completely burying his fingers in the flesh of Edward's back. Edward's screams were caught in his throat now, and Roy spread his fingers apart, and the blood...

All of it...

So beautiful...

Gushing from the wound like a wrung sponge...

Like a wrung sponge leaking out all the water it had collected...

The blood flowed freely, staining his skin, staining Edward's skin, staining the floor.

He twisted, and Edward's screams were muffled even further when he bit down on his lip, which split instantly, gushing a small stream of blood. Mustang grinned, wide and toothy, and yanked his fingers out, pressed his ring finger against the bloodied middle, and thrust them all back into the wound.

The screaming reached even more inhuman levels.

The blood poured even more, like a never ending stream, and he split his fingers apart once more and Edward's voice chose that moment to become so hoarse from screaming that he could scream no longer, only cry out in agony and misery as his flesh was torn apart. Mustang yanked his fingers out, brushing them down the side of Edward's ribcage, remembering where the lungs and the heart were, he picked a non-fatal spot between ribs, and thrust his in between the ribs.

Again, the skin split apart instantly, allowing way to the meat beneath, which Roy was only too happy to puncture as well. But this time, he took his fingers out right away, and pinched at a fold of meat. Then he began to pull on it, and Edward screamed as much as his hoarse voice would allow him to, crying and shaking and writhing in the pain of it all. Mustang knew that he wouldn't be able to keep up this particular game for much longer; if the blood loss didn't kill him soon, the shock and pain most likely would. Despite his earlier thoughts on not caring if Ed died, he didn't really want him to. He didn't want to lose his young torture-doll, and besides, there would be too many questions about how he had died. And, to be frank, he couldn't be bothered right now to weave an elaborate web of lies, couldn't be bothered planting any false efforts and certainly he wouldn't be able to be bothered moving Edward's dead corpse.

So he stopped pulling, and -

"What the Hell do you think you're doing to Edward, Roy Mustang?"


	15. Chapter Fifteen

"What the Hell do you think you're doing to Edward, Roy Mustang?"

Roy froze in the act of getting off of Edward. He hadn't heard anyone come in...but...that voice! He knew that voice. His body began to shake, phis hands trembling, his irises shrinking. It just wasn't possible, it couldn't be. Unless he was completely doped up on drugs he didn't take, there was no possible way in Hell that the person he thought he just heard was actually here. It had been too many years since he'd heard that voice, and he had known, or, rather, thought, that he would never get to hear the voice again. It just was not logically possible that he was, though. With the drugs out, there was just no other scenario he could think of that would be able to make sense of any of this. There was just no way, it couldn't be, how could he be here? How could his dead best friend be here, right now, talking to him?

"M-M-M-Maes?" He spluttered, turning his head to look over his shoulder. He could feel the tears swelling up in his eyes as he looked at his best friend. The best friend that was supposed to be dead!

"What the Hell, Roy?" Maes growled, stalking over to where Mustang was still perched atop Edward and slugging him right in the face. His fist connected with Roy's cheek and he went flying across the room, crashing into the opposite wall. His cheek stung where Maes had hit him and he knew it was going to bruise, but right now that was the least of his worries. His dead best friend was running to him now, pulling back his right fist and punching him in the face, again, and again and again. There was fury in those moss-coloured eyes, and the dim light in the room glinted off his glasses, momentarily blocking Roy's eyesight as he struggled to make sense of what was happening.

Maes hit him a few more times, and when he was done both he and Roy were panting for breath.

"What are you doing Maes?" Roy gasped, unable to believe that his dead friend was slugging the Hell out of him.

"I should ask the same question of you, bastard!" Maes snarled at him. "Why the Hell are you hurting poor Ed? Don't you think he's been through enough in his life?"

Roy was speechless. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, itching to escape his lips and be spoken, but he couldn't bring himself to. What would his best friend think of him if he knew the answer? Maes Hughes, the kindest, most forgiving man on the face of the planet, would hate him, if he knew the reason. He couldn't have that. He didn't think he would be able to cope if that happened. For a few beats, they were both silent, and out of the corner of Roy's eye he watched Edward crawl painfully to the door, propping himself up beside it and panting for breath, his bloodshot eyes glaring at Roy, his entire body shaking, bleeding. All that beautiful blood, it was going to waste, cascading around his body before falling to the floor, but it was so fascinating to watch-

"I've been watching you for a long time, Roy." Maes said softly, but with a definite edge to his voice. "Ever since I died, I've been watching everything you've done. And for a while, I was proud of you.

"But the you started beating up Edward for no reason.

"At least, no good reason.

"For months I've watched everything you've done to him, and, at first, while I was disgusted in you, I figured it would only take a few times and you'd realize what you were doing was wrong, and you'd stop. But you didn't, did you? You kept going, kept making everything worse and worse for Edward, threatening him with his brother, and then his Teacher. I'll never not be disgusted in you for that, Roy." Roy's heart clenched, and he realized that Maes' earlier question had been simply rhetorical. He didn't need Mustang to tell him his reasons; he already knew them. "Your reasons for doing it all are revolting, Roy, and I can't believe you ever started. That you still do it.

"It was when you put Edward in hospital that I decided it was time for me to intervene, but I wasn't sure on how I could do that. It wasn't like I could just pick up the phone and dial you, the Holy Line only connects to other numbers associated with it, and those belonging to the living aren't accessible to the dead. But I realized that I wouldn't have to, at least, not just yet. Edward was in hospital for three weeks, three weeks without you going anywhere near him, so I had hoped that maybe you would take the time then to consider your actions, realize how repellent they were, and stop.

"But you didn't. Of course you didn't. The moment Edward moved into this house of yours you had to start it up again. I was furious with you, why couldn't you just see how despicable your actions were? And I tried to intervene again, but the Angels stopped me, said that there was no need, because you were soon going to realize your mistake. I trust them, so I waited, and waited, and waited. But, soon enough, realize you did, and you apologized and and you listened to Edward and you stopped, and for a while I was proud of you again.

"But the thoughts started creeping back into your head, didn't they? At first, I was only a little bit worried, because the thoughts were infrequent and didn't last long. But as they started to become more and more common in your head, I became more and more worried. And now it's all you think about, again. There are no words for how much I'm disgusted by you now, Roy Mustang. It was time for me to stop you, and this time the Angels didn't stop me. So here I am."

Mustang couldn't find the right words. He wasn't entirely sure he'd taken in everything Maes had just said to him, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. But what he knew was this: since the death of Maes Hughes, his best friend had been watching him. The thought was comforting, that every step he had taken his best friend had been right there beside him. But while he had been with him during all the good times, all the good things Roy had done, he had also been there, watching and criticizing all the bad things he had done since his best friend's death. He had watched everything he had done, every time he had hurt Edward, or even thought about hurting Edward, Maes had been there. He had watched him through all of the beatings, all of the threats, all of the taunts, and he had been disgusted. He was disgusted. Still. There was no excuse for Roy, no hope for him now. He'd done what he had done, and there was no going back.

"How are you here?" Was all Roy managed to force out of his mouth.

"That's for me to know, and you to ponder, Roy. Maybe you'll focus on that instead of hurting Edward once we're done here." Maes responded bitterly.

"But...but I-"

"There's no 'but's for you, Roy." Maes interrupted. "After all you've done, there is no going back for you. You've lost God's good grace, and your ticket into Heaven had been burned. You're only heading one way once you die, and that way is down." To emphasize his point, Maes pointed to the floor. Roy's insides squirmed, he felt millions of butterflies clotted together in his stomach, and cold sweat began to drip from his forehead. So that was it, was it? He was subjected to Hell? Well then, bring it on, he thought bitterly. Let's see if the flames of Hell are as hot as the flames I can create myself.

"I wish it could go another way, Roy, I do, that's just how it is. You don't deserve a paradise, so you won't be getting one. And I don't think you'd want to go up now even if you could. Poor Trisha would make your death quite bitter if she was able to get anywhere near you." Maes told him, and Roy's heart clenched again.

"Trisha? You mean Trisha Elric? Ed and Al's mum?" Roy whispered.

"The very one." Maes said. "She's been watching her boys just like I've been watching my Gracia and my Elicia, like I've been watching you, and she's seen everything you've done to him. Every, last thing. Including all the brand new nightmares you've instilled into the poor kid's head."

"Oh, God." Roy whispered.

"Yup. Not that you'll be meeting the good man, because, you know, he's up there." He pointed to the roof. "And you're going down there." He pointed to the floor again.

"How can you be so blatant about this, Hughes?" Roy suddenly burst out. "I'm going to Hell and you don't even seem to care!"

"Of course I care, Mustang, you were my best friend, but it's your own fault that that's where you're going, and my pity -not that I really can find any at this point- is not going to change that, not one bit. Like I said, you lost God's favour when you started beating up an innocent child, so there's no way he's letting you through the pearly Gates."

"Maes..." Roy said quietly. "You said 'were'. Past tense. You mean you...you've renounced me as your friend?" He choked on the last few words, knowing them to be true before Maes smiled sadly at him. Tears flowed down his eyes and he realized that even in death, he couldn't keep his friend.

"After all you've done, Roy, I had no other choice." Maes said sadly.

"Maes.." Roy said again. "Seeing as I'm not going to get to see it for myself...what's Heaven like?"

Maes' smile dropped, and he looked down at Mustang, and Mustang could see the torment in his former friend's eyes. "I don't think you deserve to know Heaven, Roy. Not even a summary of it. I'm not gonna tell you anything, only that it's a place you don't deserve to be in, and a place that you never will be."

Maes stood up from the crouch he had taken, and walked slowly over to Edward. "Are you okay, Ed?" He asked, carefully placing his hand on the boy's right shoulder -the one Roy hadn't burned.

"Not...not exactly." Edward said through gritted teeth. Roy saw the blood that was pouring from the wounds he had created, the blood that had pooled around the child, and he smiled at the beautiful deep crimson of it. The iron smell of it, filling his nose, making him want to spill more and more of the precious liquid that was needed in order to maintain life. As he watched it pool around Edward, not paying any mind to the conversation that appeared to have struck up between the former alchemist and Maes, his former best friend, Roy frowned. Too much blood. There was too much of it. Edward couldn't possibly be as animated as he appeared to be now with all of that blood on the floor around him, as well as all he blood in the center of the room, and the blood that dragged across the carpet from when he had moved himself. No, he should certainly be looking a lot worse off.

He should be near death.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

Ten.

Edward should be dead by now, he was still oozing blood like a wrung sponge, like a water bottle without a lid, tipped upside down. He was losing more blood than he should strictly have contained. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.

"What the..." He muttered to himself, and Maes' head snapped around back to him.

"Well, see ya, Ed." He said, walking back to Mustang.

"Bye Maes." The should-be-dead-but-wasn't child husked.

"Well, Roy, this is where I leave you." Maes said, staring down at Roy with something similar to contempt in his eyes. "Remember what I said, you've disgusted me with what you've been doing. Maybe you should try to be nicer to Edward, once I leave. I'll be watching you, Roy. Every single move you make, I'll be watching. Remember that."

And, without warning, before Roy had the chance to answer the man or even consider what he'd said, Maes disappeared. Just like that.

"Maes? Maes!" Roy shouted, jumping up.

He jumped out of his bed, rapidly scanning the room, searching for his friend, forgetting that he wasn't his friend anymore. But his room was empty, but for himself and his furniture. It took him a moment to comprehend this fact.

It had all been a dream.

But somehow, he knew that everything Maes had told him in it was nothing but the cold, hard truth.

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"Wake up, Edward!"

"Nnnnnggh." Edward groaned, rolling over in his bed. He jolted upwards as he felt hard contact on his face, and he realized that the General had slapped him. "What do you want, General?" He asked, his voice croaky. "It's Sunday, we don't have work today. It's also four in the morning. Let me sleep."

"We're leaving, and we aren't coming back."

"What?"

"Get the Hell up, Elric!" Mustang practically screamed, and Edward reluctantly pulled himself out of bed. He dragged his feet over to his drawers, and pulled out some clothes, noticing that Mustang was not in military uniform, but, instead, wearing a white button-up shirt, black pants and a black trench coat. He glared at Mustang, hinting him to get out so he could change, but Mustang was unwavering, so, blushing furiously, Edward turned around, pulled off his pants as quickly as possible and put on the fresh pair, repeating the action with his shirt as hurriedly as he could and shrugging on his own tan coat, pulling his long hair back in a braid and tying it with a rubber band.

"So, where are we going?" He asked Mustang drowsily, following him out of the house and towards Mustang's car.

"You'll see." Mustang said, climbing in to the drivers seat, while Edward chose to sit in the back. It had been weeks since Mustang had actually done anything to him, but he was still wary of his Commanding Officer. And besides, Mustang had an air of fury about him today, and Edward did not want that fury taken out on himself. He sat in silence as Mustang drove, out towards the outskirts of Central. As Edward watched the streets pass by, he realized they were heading towards the abandoned warehouse district. He voiced his concern about their destination, only to be quickly silenced. He shrugged, thinking perhaps they had been sent out on a case he wasn't aware of. And perhaps that concerning air that seemed to be wrapped around him was because he was pissed about being sent out on his day off.

But Edward sincerely doubted his own reasoning.

They pulled up next to the warehouse furthest from the city and Mustang made Edward get out, ushering him into the building they had parked beside. As he wandered around the musty old building, he realized that this particular warehouse was actually divided up into several rooms, and that in one of them, there was a trap door, that presumably lead down to some extra storage area underground. The building was chock full of rusty old weapons such as canons, machine guns, hand-to-hand combat weapons, the like. He wondered what they'd been called out to do, perhaps sort the weapons? He picked up a particularly lethal looking dagger and gave it a few test swings, smiling. It was like the shirt-sword he used to turn his auto-mail arm into, except a lot lighter, yet oddly harder to wield. After a few minutes of wandering and inspecting, General Mustang decided to join him. His charcoal black eyes were positively glowing, and Edward sensed a familiar feeling, the same feeling that he would get just before Mustang would beat him. A feeling of angst and dread, of looming terror and malice. That was the same feeling he was getting now, as Mustang drew closer to him.

Two things occurred to Edward.

One: He was standing almost directly over the trap door he had found earlier.

Two: He still had the long dagger in his hand.

He held it up in the defensive position in front of his chest, frowning, but also suppressing the urge to shudder. "Answer me, Mustang." He said. "Why are we here? Why did you drag me out of bed at four in the morning? And why do you look fit to murder?" Mustang didn't answer, just kept walking slowly towards him, his head tilted slightly downwards, but his eyes trained on him. He looked like a man who should be in an insane asylum, Edward thought as the building's lighting glinted off his dark eyes, which were partially hidden by his midnight hair. "Answer me, Mustang!" He shouted at the top of his voice, hoping that someone would hear them and come looking. But he also knew that no one would. It was four in the morning, after all. Every sane person would be asleep.

"Careful, Edward." Mustang said softly, after a few beats. "You don't want to wake up the good citizens of Central with all your shouting."

"Then answer me, Goddammit! Why did you bring me here? What do you want?" He demanded. Mustang stopped, and seemed to consider the question for a few moments.

"You know, I had a really informative dream tonight." He said, as if it answered the question.

"Fascinating." Edward spat. "Get too the point."

"I dreamed that I was making you bleed. I had you pinned under me, and I burned you and scratched you and put holes in you. You were writhing and screaming like a child refusing to be put to bed. It was...delicious." He said, licking his lips.

"You're sick, Mustang." Edward said, beginning to understand Mustang's meaning.

"In the dream, I stopped hurting you because you were about to bleed to death, and then Hughes appeared." He paused for dramatic effect, and Edward had to admit that it worked. Any mention of the kind man almost always brought tears to Edward's eyes, and today was no exception. Without dropping his guard, he quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve, before Mustang continued. "He started punching me, yelling at me that I was a bastard for hurting you -"

"We agree on that much." Ed interrupted, but Mustang continued on as though he hadn't.

"-and then he started telling me what he'd been doing since his death. He's been watching me, you know? Watching every move I make, every single little thing I do. He's seen my every move since his death, and he'd been judging all of them. He was watching me every time I hurt you, and he's not the only one who disproves. Apparently, both he and your mother want my blood."

"M-m-m-mum?" Edward whispered.

"That's right, she's been watching you and Alphonse throughout everything you've done since she died."

Edward suddenly felt sick. His mother had watched them as they tried in vain to bring her back to life. She had watched them create that...that thing, and watched them think it was her. She must have been so very disgusted in them both. Edward especially, after all, it had been his idea to commit the taboo and try to resurrect her.

"But here's the really interesting part about the dream, Edward. Maes told me I'd lost my favour from God, and my ticket to Heaven had been burned. You know what that means, don't you?" He asked.

"It means when you're worthless ass dies, you're going straight down to Hell." Edward hissed, smiling. "Just where you belong."

"Precisely, Edward, how very observant of you. And more or less after that, Maes left, and I woke up. Now, I know it wasn't just any other dream, because I remember every single detail of it, without fault. The human brain can't recall dreams, as you know, which means that it wasn't one. It was a message from Hughes, is what it was. He was warning me. Intervening before I hurt you again, by telling me my fate, by telling me how disgusted he is in me. He's even renounced me as his best friend, Edward, and that stings." Mustang said.

"How very kind of him." Edward said. "But you still haven't told me why we're here."

"Ah. You see, this is the really important bit. Maes' warning was supposed to deter me from ever wanting to harm you again. It was supposed to make me force myself to suppress the desires that have been bubbling up within me. But Maes made a mistake. You see, the way I see it, I'm going to Hell anyway, so I might as well enjoy myself before I get there." His eyes lit up then, and the split second before Mustang pulled his hand from his pocket and snapped his fingers, Edward realized with a sick wrench of his stomach, that he was standing directly on the trapdoor.

It burst into flames, crumbling almost instantly, far too quickly for Edward to react, and then Edward was falling, falling down the trapdoor. A few feet down his feet hit a set of steps at full force, and both of his ankles (flesh and auto-mail) snapped at the unprepared-for impact. He bit back a scream, and fell down on his side, sliding down the remainder of the stairs, which managed to bruise every thinkable part of his body. When he finally slid down onto the floor, several billion steps later, his entire body was screaming at him, his flesh ankle shrieking louder than anywhere else.

He curled into the fetal position, listening as Mustang's footsteps echoed loudly in the room Edward had fallen into. It seemed to be made completely of concrete, so the echoes were loud, and the stairs had also been made of that same material. No wonder he'd broken his ankles falling onto it. As the footsteps grew louder and louder, closer and closer, Edward frantically did a double-take of the room, desperately searching for some sort of exit, but knowing he wouldn't find one.

"You look like a wounded dog, Fullmetal, curled up like that." Mustang had finally descended all of the concrete steps, and was grinning maliciously at Edward, like he was a particularly tasty piece of meat to be eaten. It sent shivers up his spine, and he wished he hadn't dropped the Goddamn dagger when he'd fallen. Mustang, however, seemed to have picked it up, and was twirling it in his left hand. "So, let's get to it, Elric. No one will hear us all the way down here, so I'm free to hurt you all I want. And there isn't a damn thing you can do about it, especially now that your ankles are broken." He paused for a heartbeat. "They are broken, aren't they?"

"No." Edward hissed, lying through his teeth. They were broken horribly, the flesh one bent at an odd angle, and the auto-mail leg cracked from foot to knee. But it would do him no good for Mustang to know how terribly disadvantaged he was.

"Stand up then and show me." Mustang smirked, eyeing Ed's legs in triumph.

Edward inwardly cringed, cursing Mustang and himself. It took all his strength, all his will, to get to his knees, and then he stood up, pain shooting up his leg from where the nerves connected to his auto-mail. He used it entirely, not putting any weight on his flesh foot at all, hoping Mustang wouldn't notice. When he was standing, albeit the swaying, he pressed his boot lightly onto the ground, so it looked like he was standing on it. Putting all of his weight on his groaning auto-mail, he copied the pose his younger brother would always adopt when faced with combat, back when he was still a hulking suit of armor.

"You planning on fighting me, are you, Fullmetal? Well, by all means. Go ahead. But I don't think your ankle can take it, not bent the way it is." He laughed, motioning Ed to come and have a go. Blind rage filled him, and he leaped off of his auto-mail foot, landing on his right foot, and a sickening pain shot up his leg, like fire. He suppressed a growl as he lost his balance, falling onto his knees. Shaking with rage, he bowed his head, hiding behind his long bangs, just barely accepting defeat. He may be stubborn, but he was no fool. He knew when he'd lost.

"There's a good child. Bow, bow to your master, for I nothing less than own you at this point." Mustang taunted him, and Edward let the growl escape, let it rumble through him, and he forced himself not to punch the older man as he ruffled his hair, as though he were a dog that had brought his master the morning's paper. "There we go." Mustang muttered to himself, and Edward suddenly lost the will to hold back. He clenched his fist and rammed it into Mustang's stomach.

At least, he tried to.

Mustang was too fast, dodging the weak attack and circling around behind him, leaning all his weight onto him so that he fell forward, whacking his head on the cement floor with a meaty smack. Stars burst in front of his eyes and his head throbbed harder. Mustang collided his fist between Edward's shoulder blades, and Edward choked on his own scream, all the breath rushing out of him, spasms of pain spreading down his arms and back.

Mustang repeated the action three more times, and Edward felt about ready to pass out from the pain when he was done. He spat saliva that had been building up in his mouth and dry-reached, and through his empty gagging, Edward faintly heard Mustang whisper "That was for trying to hit me. Expect more pain like this, Fullmetal, because it's going to be the last thing you'll ever feel. I hope you said goodbye to your brother, because you're never going to see him again."

Through his own foolishness and hope, Edward never even realized that Mustang was all too right.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

"First Lieutenant Havoc, anything to report?" Colonel Riza Hawkeye said sharply.

"Nothing, sir!" First Lieutenant Havoc answered.

"Dammit, where the Hell are they?" Hawkeye muttered to herself, putting her head in her hand. She was leaning heavily on her desk in her comfortable chair. Since General Roy Mustang and First Lieutenant Edward Elric had disappeared over two weeks ago, without so much as a trace, she'd been working her ass off leading the investigation to find them. So far they'd turned up nothing except for a few alleged sightings at places like grocery stores and on one occasion, there was a report of a man matching Mustang's description sighted on the outside's of Central City, a few kilometers away from the forest. She had sent men to check out each reported sighting, but they'd found diddly squat. It was becoming frustrating, because Riza had absolutely no clue as to where to look for them. Edward wouldn't surprise her so much if it was just Edward that was missing, the youth had been known to disappear for weeks at a time without telling anybody, and then show up randomly a while later. But thee fact that he'd disappeared with Roy was what really worried her. She'd never known Roy to just up and leave without telling anyone, and she'd known him for the better part of her life. There were no secrets between them, she told him everything and he told her everything, that was just the way their relationship was, even if it wasn't a romantic relationship like she'd always wanted - the anti-frat laws forbade such an intimacy between colleges - they'd never hidden things from one another. She trusted him with her life, and she knew he trusted her with his. He had said so himself. She remembered now what he'd said to her when she'd first come under his command.

'I'm trusting you with my back, Lieutenant. And if I ever stray from this path, I'm trusting you to shoot me.'

Riza hoped that whatever Roy was doing now, she wouldn't have to keep that promise. Although, from the evidence they'd gathered, she knew it was more than likely that she would have to follow through.

She was getting a bad feeling about this. A really, really bad feeling.

She sighed. "Second Lieutenant Fuery?"

"Yes, sir?" Fuery's childlike voice rang out.

"Have there been any more reports, any more sightings?"

"Not yet sir, but I'm sure something will turn up." He said sadly.

"I certainly hope so. Major Breda, could you please try one more time to track down Mustang's car? We know it's gone from his home and it has to be somewhere. I know you've already tried but right now it's the strongest lead we have. Please Breda."

"No problem, Colonel." Breda said with forced enthusiasm, saluting and leaving the office.

"Havoc, could you please look over the case file, see if there's anything we missed." She asked tiredly, her head still in her hands.

"Sure thing, Hawkeye." Havoc said, falling into his chair and pulling the case file from his desk drawer, his eyes moving from left to right as he scanned the documents.

Another familiar wave of dread spread through the tired Colonel as she was once again lost as to what to do. They'd gone through every possible procedure to find them, sent squadrons of men across the country to search for the missing General and his Lieutenant, but nothing had turned up. When the decision had been made to do a thorough investigation of Mustang's house, they'd found some truly disturbing things. Well, not so much things as thing. When they'd swept the house, Riza herself had searched Mustang's room top to bottom, and found nothing that could hint to whereabouts of the man she loved with all her heart. Havoc had searched Edward's room, and he'd been in there for a full three seconds when he'd shouted for her at the top of his lungs. She'd almost vomited when she saw the ugly state Ed's room was in.

There was blood everywhere. Soaked into the carpet, spattered on the walls, the inside of the door, there were ever splats of it on the furniture and on the boards of the bed. She drew in a sharp breath and slowly walked further into the room. There was so much blood, too much blood, so much that if it had all been spilled at once, which surely it had to have been, then Edward was most assuredly dead. Surely this had happened recently? It had to have. She knelt down next to the largest dried-up puddle of blood and examined it for a few moments. Ed and Roy had only been missing for three days, but this blood had been spilled three or four weeks ago. How could this have happened? She walked over to the splats on Edward's clothes drawers. At least a month. She repeated her actions with every little bit of blood she could see, and each section yielded similar results.

"H-Havoc?" She said, her voice shaking slightly.

"Yeah?" He responded, sounding a bit sick.

"All of this blood, all of it, it's between three weeks to two months old. None of it is even close to recent. What the Hell happened here?" She said.

"I don't know, Colonel. Hey, I don't know if this will help, but the blood might not even be Edward's. We might have to run a DNA test to be sure." He suggested.

"Havoc, that technology is new and faulty, it can't be trusted. No, I think this is definitely Edward's blood." She insisted, not because she couldn't think of another explanation, but for a more logic-less reason. She had looked after Edward for three months almost, and she had come to regard the child as a son. Without knowing, she just knew that this blood belonged to Edward. She just knew. "At least the age of the blood is varied, some, it means it was spilled over time. He shouldn't have died from this, at least, I hope not. But who would do such a thing? And how would they manage it without Roy knowing?" She asked, more to herself than to Havoc.

"Uh, Hawkeye?" The First Lieutenant said slowly.

"Yes?"

"Look at this." He motioned her to come to where he was kneeling, and when she had, he pointed to something on the floor. A closer inspection revealed it to be a fair sized section of singed carpet, something she hadn't noticed before. She frowned.

"What do you think?" She asked.

"I think my recent suspicions have just been confirmed. At least, they're as good as." He replied.

"What suspicions are you talking about, Havoc? And why haven't you voiced them?" She demanded.

"A while ago, I noticed that Edward wasn't acting like himself. He was flinching at everything, noises, movement, other people. It was so weird, because it was just so out of character for him. I asked him about it but he bluntly refused to tell me. But there was something else I noticed. Since he moved in with Mustang-"

"He's been limping." Riza finished. "I know, Fuery told me that he'd noticed it too, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. He was also too afraid to confront the General about it, in case he was thinking along the wrong lines."

"Yeah, well, if his thoughts were following the same path as mine, then he was definitely not wrong. When I confronted Mustang about what was wrong with Edward, his behavior changed completely. He went from casual and relaxed to dark and guarded the second I mentioned Edward's name. At the time I thought it was just because he was worried about Edward, but now I think it was because he was worried Edward ratted him out about what he had been doing."

"Havoc, what on earth are you even suggesting?" Riza ordered.

"What I'm saying, sir, is I think it was Mustang that was hurting Edward. You remember that day Ed fell out of the tree?" He asked suddenly.

"Yeah...I do, why?" She asked slowly.

"Can you tell me what you remember from that day? Everything concerning Edward and Mustang." She asked.

"Well..." She said, thinking. "Edward left early in the morning to go for a walk. Twenty minutes later, Mustang went out to get groceries...oh, wait, Mustang never brought any back..." She trailed off, her brow knitting into a frown, trying to remember what happened concerning Edward next. " A few hours later Edward came bursting through the door, bloody...I patched him up and I was almost done when Mustang got back. He was drenched. Why?"

"How did Edward react when Mustang got back? Was there any noticeable change in his behavior?" Havoc pressed.

"Well..." Riza thought back, frowning as she realized the answer to the Lieutenant's question. "Actually, I think he did seem a lot more tense than he had been from when I went to open the door for the General and when we got back. He seemed more...guarded. But I didn't notice at the time..."

"I think we just figured out why, Colonel. Mustang's the one who's been hurting Edward all of this time." Havoc concluded sadly.

"Havoc...but...It just can't be true." Riza sputtered, unbelieving despite the evidence. "...The General-"

"Riza!" Havoc cut in, beginning to sound furious. "I don't want to believe it any more than you do, but Goddammit, this entire mess just proves it! And I'm willing to bet that wherever we find them, Edward is going to be worse for wear than we'd like him to be! You can't waste anymore time wallowing in your self-pity! I know you love the man but the evidence is overwhelming! Whatever he was when we started following him, that man is long gone! We have to devote all of our energy to finding them, whatever they're doing! Now let's go!"

Riza swallowed back bile that had begun to rise in her throat, blinked back tears at Havoc's harsh -but painfully true- words, and saluted, despite the fact that she was the current officer in command. "Yes sir!" She said, and forced her mask of calm back over herself. She'd momentarily lost it, and she couldn't afford to do that now. She had to find Edward, and she had to find Mustang.

"Colonel Hawkeye!" Fuery suddenly called, breaking her out of her memories. She lifted her head and studied the young man for a moment, taking in his messed black hair, his round glasses that were slightly crooked, the tired bags under his eyes. He looked every bit as exhausted as she felt right about now. He was holding two fingers over one of the dials on the radio (the one Edward had fixed alchemically for him, so many long years ago, she remembered). He was also holding the headphones over his ears, one side pushed back behind his ear with his other had so that he could talk to Hawkeye. It occurred to her that she had been sitting silent for a few beats too long, and she quickly shook her head to regain her clarity.

"Yes, Second Lieutenant?" She asked, her voice sounding surprisingly intrigued despite her attempts to keep it passive. She couldn't help it, because Fuery's tone of voice sounded like something promising was coming.

"I've just received a report of alleged screaming noises, though barely perceptible, coming from the old abandoned warehouse district from an elderly woman who lives in the area. She says she's been hearing the noise for roughly two weeks, but she hasn't been able to identify the sound properly until a few minutes ago, when the noise was particularly loud. Her report matches the time frame of Ed and Roy's disappearance, so it could be them...?" He finished, sounding hopeful.

"Let's check it out!" Hawkeye said immediately.

"Wait Riza." She heard Havoc say.

"Yes, Lieutenant Havoc?" She asked.

"I don't think we should rush in there just yet. For all we know it might just be coincidence. It might not even be screaming the old geezer is hearing, could just be some cat stuck in a wall or something. While I admit and agree that this could be it, we don't want to go rushing in there, unprepared and with our hopes up, only to find something else."

Everyone let Havoc's words sink in for a moment, and, conceding that he was most likely right, as Jean Havoc usually was in these situations, both Kain Fuery and Riza Hawkeye nodded their agreement, Kain then asking nervously what Jean proposed they do before Hawkeye got the chance to.

"I propose that we send in one or two men who are skilled at stealth to go in and take stock of the situation. If it's another false lead, then there shouldn't be a problem. Who knows, though, maybe the woman was hearing screaming, but all the same, it still might not even be Edward." Riza couldn't help but noticed how Havoc intentionally neglected to mention Mustang. "It might be something even bigger for all we know, could be some sort of smuggling ring or something for all we know. We need more intelligence on this before we charge in full force. I know a couple of good men who know how to keep secrets. They actually happen to fall under Armstrong's command, so I'm sure he won't mind if I borrow them for a little bit. I'll send them in to gather some intel. on the situation and report back to us. If it's nothing, we keep looking. If it's something really big, then we can hand it over to someone else, someone that doesn't have completely full plate right now, like Captain Maria Ross. She's got command of a huge amount of officers now, she'll be able to handle it."

"Captain? Isn't Ross a First Lieutenant?" Fuery asked.

"Was." Havoc said, just a tad bit bitterly. "She was promoted a few weeks ago. She'll be able to handle it if it's something that's just gonna get in our way."

"And if it is Mustang?" Riza asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"If it's Ed, we find out from the guys I send in as much as we can about where exactly they are and what's happening, and go from there."

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"Warrant Officer Molina! Staff Sergeant Thurber!" First Lieutenant Havoc, said, and Molina saluted respectfully, seeing through her peripheral vision that her partner, Jack Thurber, saluted at the same moment that she did.

"Yes, sir!" They both said in unison.

"I have a mission for you both. It requires extreme stealth and covertness, which is why Major Armstrong has recommended you two for the job." He said.

"What is the mission, sir?" Molina asked, allowing only the tiniest hint of curiosity to enter her voice.

"It requires you and Warrant Officer Thurber to investigate the old abandoned warehouse district. There has been a report of screaming sounds coming from the place, and we need to know if this report had any accuracy to it. We believe it's possible that it is connected to our own case, but we need to know for certain what's going on before we go in." Havoc explained.

"What are our orders, sir?" Thurber asked.

"You are to covertly inspect each and every warehouse in the district, but make sure that not a single soul sees you. It's very important that no one knows what you are doing, as we don't know exactly what we're dealing with here. It could be dangerous or it could just be nothing. You will both be sent in with small radios so that you can contact us if need be. For your own safety we won't try to contact you unless you contact us first. But before you try to, should the need arise, make sure you are not within earshot of anyone you may have found. And if you happen to come across Roy Mustang, I am ordering you to shoot to kill, do you understand?" Havoc ordered them.

"General Mustang? But why would we shoot him?" Thurber exclaimed. Molina elbowed him sharply, and he amended himself. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't intend to be disrespectful. But, if it is all right for me to ask, is there a reason you want us to shoot your Commanding Officer?"

"I'm afraid I cannot divulge that information, Warrant Officer, is it is part of the case I'm currently investigating, but I can tell you that I know for a fact that he's done things lately that would have him Court-Martialled, and that he's become a terrible person. I am ordering you not to repeat this information, and I trust you not to. Now, if you could begin your investigation tonight, under the cover of darkness, that would be better suited to you, I think you'll find. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get going. And remember, you can't tell anyone where you're going. That order comes down from Colonel Riza Hawkeye herself." Molina stiffened at mention of the fabled Hawk's Eye, her personal idol, and resolved to herself that she would not tell a soul.

"Yes, sir!" She said enthusiastically, looking forward to tonight's mission.

As Havoc walked away, back to the office, Molina and Thurber both went back to their own assigned offices to prepare for tonight's mission. After cleaning and restocking the ammunition for their guns, consulting a map of the area so that they knew exactly where each building was and how to navigate each one, and finally, made sure they were well rested for their assignment.

That night, under the cover of darkness, as Havoc had suggested, they quietly crept into the first warehouse of twelve.

The air around the entire district was spooky, heavy, wrong. Molina felt it as soon as she stepped onto the premises, and couldn't suppress a shudder that had nothing to do with the nighttime cold. And judging by the tremor that went through Thurber, she knew he could feel how wrong it felt as well. They navigated their way through the maze of buildings until they came to the first warehouse. Molina was aware of a background noise, something that sounded suspiciously like screaming to her senses. She wanted to go check it out, right then and their, but her strict orders were to investigate all the warehouses, so that's exactly what they were going to do. Starting with this one; Warehouse Number One.

As they drew closer to it, it seemed to loom up high above them, right into the sky. There seemed to be much more shadows in this place than strictly possible, but there they were. Molina motioned for Thurber to pull out his torch, and simultaneously they clicked them on and pulled open the door of the warehouse. Inside seemed to be mountains upon mountains of cardboard boxes. The did a quick sweep of the warehouse to make sure there was nobody inside, and then they both began to check a few of the boxes. Everything they checked contained nothing but old documents that, judging by the yellowed paper and, more importantly, the dates, were several decades or even centuries old, some of them dating back to the founding of the country. After checking a few more boxes and making sure there was nothing in the cold building but paperwork, Molina and Thurber left and went on to check the second warehouse.

This one was even colder, and contained what appeared to be bombs, grenades, cannons, all war tools that made Molina very nervous to be near. It made her even more nervous that the military was actually holding all of these things so close to civilians. If all of this were to go off, Central City would be nothing more than a crater in the ground. So, to ease her mind just a little, she closely examined every single grenade, bomb, cannon and stick of dynamite in the building, making sure everything was not about to detonate. The dynamite sticks turned out to be really old, so they probably wouldn't pack much of a punch anymore. The pins in the grenades were all safely jammed and most of the wires in the bombs were unconnected. There were no cannonballs in the cannons to worry about and those were all stored in thick metal boxes. Her mind eased, she took Thurber to the third warehouse to inspect.

If it were even possible, the atmosphere seemed to become colder every step they took towards the twelfth warehouse. The noise that sounded like muffled screaming seemed to be growing louder, but she did her best to ignore it. She had warehouses to inspect, she would deal with the noise when she got to it.

Inside the third warehouse were, to her astonishment, tanks! Fully assembled, fully operational war tanks! After the initial shock that had frozen the pair to the floor, they relaxed. The tanks weren't as operational as she'd thought. Closer inspection revealed that while most everything else was completely in order, that actual engine was not connected to the rest of the tank. It was in place, just unconnected. Unless someone took the time to get under there and connect the cords, these babies were immobile.

But it did take a moment for Molina to remember why there were tanks in Central City.

After the Cue-de-tat from Briggs almost a year ago, the new top Brass decided that Central needed to be better protected. Once all the business with the Briggs rebels was sorted out and they were all let go, declared innocent and acting under the orders of the then Major General Olivier Armstrong (who was now a General), they were let free. The General herself's actions was also decreed justified, once the plot to sacrifice the nation's population was unearthed and it was discovered that she was trying to thwart said plot. Fuhrer Grumman had requested she lend Central a few tanks to help better protect the city, should another crisis unfold, and she had agreed to send four Briggs Tanks to Central. Apparently, they were now stored in the third warehouse.

After a quick sweep that determined that there was no one else in the building besides themselves, they left and headed towards the fourth warehouse. This one was further along than the regular pattern, due to a road that cut through the district separating it from the building they had just left. They went in and took a look around the completely empty warehouse, and then went on to the fifth, and the sixth, and the seventh and the eighth and the ninth, all of which yielded the same relieving result of emptiness. By the time they were done with the tenth, Thurber's teeth were chattering through the silence and Molina couldn't shake the feeling of vertigo that had spread through her somewhere around the eighth warehouse. It was like she was standing on the top of an enormous cliff, so ridiculously high that she could not see that bottom, and that there was someone standing right behind her, moments away from pushing her off the edge and sending her plummeting. She shivered, and pulled her military jacket tighter around herself as they entered the eleventh warehouse.

Again, this building held no humans other than themselves, and very little in the way of physical objects. They did a thorough search of the place, all too aware of the extreme cold that had enveloped them, and left, making their way to the twelfth and final warehouse.

As they did, the temperature seemed to drop to below freezing, and the muffled screaming became much more audible. There was definitely someone inside.

"M-Molina?" Thurber chattered quietly as they slowly stepped closer and closer toward the building that somehow felt like the embodiment of doom.

"Yeah?" She whispered back.

"I really, really don't think we should go in there." He said, nodding towards the twelfth warehouse.

"But we're under strict orders to investigate each and every warehouse in the district, Thurber. If we don't we'll be directly disobeying orders." Molina argued.

"We don't need to go in there." Thurber insisted, stopping in his tracks and shaking his head furiously. He hugged his chest and continued. "You can hear that screaming just as clearly as I can, we know that there is someone, multiple someones, in that building. We can go back to Central Command and tell them that. But Warrant Officer, you can't tell me that I'm the only one here that doesn't want to go in there. You can't tell me that I'm the only one here that feels that...that...that something is seriously wrong in there! That I'm the only one that has noticed the cold that's radiating from that building! It's...it's like a bomb of freezing cold dread blew up in there. If we go in there, I can guarantee you something really bad is going to happen. You feel it too, don't you?" He pleaded with her.

"Yeah, I feel it, how could I not?" She exclaimed. "But still, I think that those reasons you've just pointed out just prove that we have to go in! There's someone in there, Thurber, someone in extreme pain, by the sounds of it. As military officers, it is our job to rescue whoever is inside and bring whoever is causing them to scream to justice. Besides, could it possibly be that bad?" She asked, but felt immediately after like she shouldn't have.

"No, I'm not going in." Thurber said, digging his heels into the gravel. "It's not safe. We should report back to Command."

"Well, if you want to disobey a direct order, that's your decision, don't blame me if you get demoted. Whether you come with me or not, I don't care! But I'm going in there!" She said, her word final. Shivering, she began to walk forward, towards the building that sent chills down her spine.

"You're not going anywhere." A cold voice stopped her in her tracks, and from the shadows emerged General Roy Mustang. Instinct told her to run, to run away as fast as she could, because he was raising his hand, and she should be running, running, but she was frozen in place, her legs wouldn't move. He's the source of all this cold and dread, she realized. She heard Thurber taking a running leap forward, calling her name, her first name -Cassy, but before she could react, the man's fingers snapped.

A huge jet of flame shot towards them, enveloped them, burned them.

And that was the last living memory Jack Thurber and Cassy Molina had before their fiery deaths.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

"Goddammit, they should be back by now!" Havoc yelled, slamming his fist on the table. "That job should have taken a few hours at the most, and they left almost twelve hours ago! What the Hell happened?" His heart was racing a million miles an hour, his breath was coming in short, angry bursts, and his head felt like it was going to implode from the the pressure. It was him who had sent them on that mission in the first place, what if something bad had happened to them?

"Havoc, calm down." Riza said from the other side of the office.

"I can't, Colonel!" Havoc cried, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair and pulling. Pain erupted in his scalp and he growled, letting go. "They're probably dead by now, dammit! What the Hell was I thinking?"

"Lieutenant Havoc!" Riza yelled, getting his attention, pulling it away from the dark, inner depths of himself, the part of himself that knew that by now, Molina and Thurber were certainly dead. There was no way they would have taken this long to report in otherwise. He fought back tears, knowing that it was through his orders that two innocent soldiers were now dead. It was all his fault, it-

"Havoc." She said, more quietly this time. "It's not your fault, okay? You were right, we needed to know for sure what we were dealing with before we went barging in there. This is most certainly not the way I wanted it to go, but I think now we know that it is probably Mustang over in the warehouses. We still don't know if the Warrant Officer and the Staff Sergeant are dead yet, it hasn't been confirmed. Perhaps they were taken prisoner, or perhaps they're hiding in one of the warehouses, waiting for the chance to do whatever it is they're waiting for. It hasn't been confirmed, so try not to lose your head just yet. Please. I need you at your best if we're going to storm the district."

"W-what?" He asked stupidly, his head taking a moment to wrap itself around everything the Colonel had just said.

"Tomorrow night we're going to storm the warehouse district. For now, we need to gather every scrap of information we can in order to do it efficiently. I want to know exactly which warehouse to actually go into in order to find them, so I'm sending one of Captain Ross's men, Lieutenant Brosh, to do some reconnaissance for us." She said.

"But if he-" Havoc began, but Riza cut him off before he could finish.

"Don't worry, he's been given strict instructions not to go into the district if he can help it. He's just going to do a bit of sneaking around outside, just some listening, that's it, to try and determine exactly which warehouse the General and Edward are in. That's all he's doing, he shouldn't be in any danger this way. But it's important, we need to know where they are." She told him.

Havoc nodded. Her plan made perfect sense, actually. "Okay." He said, more to himself than to Hawkeye. "Okay." He worked on calming himself, closing his eyes and counting to ten a few times, slowing down his breathing, allowing his heart rate to settle into a more natural rhythm. He still felt terrible over what he knew had to have happened to the two soldiers he'd sent to the district, but he also knew he couldn't allow himself to mourn them just yet. There would be plenty of time to do that after he'd rescued Edward from Mustang and brought that abusing bastard some of the pain he'd brought to Ed. Oh, he'd feel the pain, alright. Havoc would make sure of it. He'd put a bullet in his Goddamn leg, and his arm, and his stomach and every other nonfatal place he could think of. Just the thought of it made him smile.

"Right." He said. "So, what are we going to do until then?"

"Well, we need to review everything we know about both Mustang and Edward. We need to know everything he could have done to hurt Ed and how we can avoid being hurt ourselves while performing the rescue operation. We know he will have his ignition gloves with him; the man never goes anywhere without them, so we'll need a way to counteract that."

"Um, what if we poured water everywhere?" Fuery asked nervously from his desk, and Riza nodded.

"That's a good idea, he can't make a spar if he's all wet." She said.

"Nuh-uh, bad idea." Havoc disagreed. "He's an alchemist, remember? And with that clapping transmutation that Edward used to use, he won't even need to waste to draw a circle."

"I don't get it." Breda said from his own desk. "Even if he is an alchemist, that doesn't change the fact that he can't make a spark if he's wet."

"That's true, but remember when we fought that Homunculus, Lust?" Breda and Fuery weren't so quick to catch on, but Riza nodded immediately. She'd been there that day, and she'd broken down when she thought Lust had killed Roy. She remembered that day very well. "Yeah, well, Lust did the same thing while we were fighting her, she cut up a pipe into pieces and filled the room with water, but Roy just turned the water into some sort of gas and threw my cigarette lighter in there. Blew her into smithereens. She regenerated of course, but that's really not the point. What the point is, is that when we go in there, Mustang will be expecting it. He probably has a lighter or two of his own with him, so that he can do the exact same thing. No, we need something other than water."

"Well, what else is there?" Breda asked.

"I have absolutely no idea, Heymans." Jean said, putting his head in his hands. "Not a single frickin' idea.

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Edward wasn't sure his body could take the abuse anymore.

He wasn't sure he'd survive much longer, if it didn't stop.

But he knew that wasn't happening.

Mustang was relentless, merciless, the beatings never seemed to stop until he passed out from the pain. It made him regret his incredible pain tolerance. But even that was close to death, if it wasn't dead already. His entire body ached, burned, killed. All the skin that he could see was an angry blue, or purple, or yellow or black. All except the spaces that were dominated by cuts or burns. the burns were a flaming red, and the cuts were all infected and disgusting. He wished he had some disinfectant to clean them with, because they were making him sick, physically in both forms, the form where he was actually coming down with a bad fever, and the form that made him want to puke from the sight and the feel of them.

His leg felt possibly the worst though. The leg with the auto-mail, that was. But that was his own fault, really, Mustang kept telling him.

Said bastard had been out doing a bit of shopping, the man was becoming hungry, and Edward even more so. While he had been out, he'd underestimated Edward's ability to get out of ropes, and Edward had tried to escape. But it had taken him too long to get out of them, and by the time he'd managed to escape the warehouse and try to sneak out, Mustang had returned, and enveloped him in a ring of fire while he slowly, and menacingly, strode towards him, king hit the back of his neck, and knocked him unconscious. When Edward had woken up, his wrists were tied, and then his arms tied tighter around his waist. His right leg had a deep gash running along his thigh, and it killed to move it even a little bit. Mustang was sitting on the ankle of Edward's auto-mail leg, smiling broadly.

'You shouldn't have tried to escape Edward,' he'd said, 'This is your own fault.'

And then he'd snapped his fingers and burned his auto-mail port, and Edward hadn't known he could scream so loudly up until that point. Not only did it burn his skin, but it melted the steel of his port right into his leg. The pain was like nothing he'd ever experienced, and then the fire had reached the circuits. The nerve connectors. Pain so intense it was like burning in the fiery pits of Hell shot up his leg, his side, spread throughout his entire body. If having the nerves connected was painful, it was nothing compared to having them burned. His world became a white void of endless pain, pain so harsh that it was the only thing that existed. It was the only thing to think about, the only thing to feel, the only thing that could make up his being. He'd screamed his voice hoarse, and then screamed some more.

Mustang had kept the fire constant, until it had burned completely through his leg, from top right through to the bottom, which finally happened several hours later. Throughout the entire process he had passed out and woken up and passed out again and re-awoken himself too many times to count, and that had just been on his third day underground. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since then, because he had blacked out so many times that it was impossible to tell how long for.

While Mustang was gone, on the rare occasions that he was, Edward passed the time by counting the cracks in the ground, on the walls and the stairs and the roof, and thinking. He thought about the intense pain that never seemed to subside. He thought about possible ways to escape, about possible chances of being rescued, and he thought about Alphonse and Winry.

He thought about how Alphonse might be getting on with Mai. How their relationship might be progressing, what they might be doing. He knew they'd been spending a bit of time in the imperial palace with Emperor Ling Yao, and, presumably, Lan Fan. Alphonse was probably learning an immense amount of Rentanjutsu by this point, and it wouldn't surprise Edward if he had already figured out how to combine it with alchemy. He wondered if Mai had done the same thing, but in reverse.

He thought about the three weeks he had spent alone with her, in their house. About the beautiful, sunny days, where they would talk about anything and everything, when Edward would take a few minutes to write to Alphonse and Winry would rebuild his leg. And he thought about the beautiful nights they had spent together, sleeping, listening to each other's breaths, and then those two or three nights where they would love each other more than you could put into words, where they would show their love to each other in more ways that could ever be talked about to other people, or shown to anyone, because it was private and special and beautiful. Edward spent a great majority of the time thinking of those nights, because those were his best memories. He memorized every detail of every little bit of contact with Winry, every moment of affection, because he feared he might never get to experience it with her again. It was a deep fear that clung to his very core, a fear that haunted his nightmares, his waking thoughts. So he relived those tender moments in his mind, because that was all he had right now.

His eyes snapped open and he started at the sound of footsteps coming towards him. He looked up and there was Mustang, descending the stairway into Hell (as Edward thought of this place). For the first time since he had brought Edward down here, Mustang looked...regretful. It was an odd emotion to see on the man's face after everything he'd done, and Edward briefly wondered if Mustang was having another 'epiphany', before he killed the thought with a metaphorical hammer. Mustang couldn't be regretful about doing all of this. He had been, once, but that hadn't even lasted a full month. No, if Mustang was regretting anything, Edward figured, it was the fact that after this he'd never be able to make Fuhrer. Edward scoffed.

"Thinking about how you're never going to make Fuhrer, Mustang?" He said, allowing the smallest hint of sarcasm to lace his voice.

"This is all your fault, Edward." Mustang whispered, his voice so dangerously low that Edward bit his tongue to keep from retorting something snappy.

"It's your fault...they're dead because of you..." He was mumbling, and Edward drew in a breath.

"D-dead? Who? Dammit Mustang, tell me!" He demanded, feeling numb.

Mustang narrowed his eyes, clenched his fist, and ran up to Edward, slugging him right in the face as hard as he could. Edward cringed at the impact, which sent him flying backwards into the wall. He hit it dead on and all the breath rushed out of him, and he fell to the cold floor in a heap. He glared up at Mustang, who was breathing heavily and sweating. "What did you do, Mustang?" Edward snarled.

"I had to...I had to kill them..." Mustang was muttering, over and over again, like a mantra. No matter how many times Edward demanded to know who he'd killed, Mustang just slugged him again, continuing to mutter to himself. After a few minutes of this, Ed had had enough.

"Goddammit Mustang, who the Hell did you kill?" He bellowed.

"A...a Warrant Officer...female...and a Staff Sergeant, male." Mustang eventually whispered, his eyes downcast.

"Why did you kill them, bastard?" Edward growled.

"They...they were snooping." He murmured. "They were heading towards us, they were going to find you. I couldn't let them do that...mine...all mine..."

"I don't belong to you or anyone!" Edward snarled. "And that is not a good reason to kill someone, Mustang! How could you do that to them, just because they were getting too close? You're despicable!"

Mustang snapped his head up too look at Ed, fire still in his eyes. "If you hadn't have been screaming, they never would have found us." Mustang said, his voice surprisingly and terrifyingly even.

"I wouldn't have been screaming if you weren't torturing me to death!" He snapped.

"Edward?" Mustang asked.

"Yes, bastard?"

"Tell me, how does it feel to have your fingernails ripped off?"

Edward said nothing, knowing that one wrong move would result in Mustang doing exactly that.

"I-I don't know." He eventually said.

"Well, I think it's about time you found out." Said Mustang with a smirk, grabbing Edward's shoulder and rolling him over, onto his stomach, all the while Edward was thrashing and screaming and trying to clench his fists to block access to his fingernails, which he very much wanted to remain on his actual fingers. Mustang sat on his back and Edward winced as he aggravated a huge bruise there, and Mustang pried his fingers open. Edward growled and tried to clench them again but Mustang held them firmly open, grabbing the middle finger of his right hand. Edward kept trying to shake him off, while at the same time trying to look over at his shoulder at the older man, his eyes filling with tears as Mustang held the long nail between his forefinger and his thumb and pulled upwards.

Edward screamed as the nail was slowly ripped from his finger, the nail-bed screaming at him as it lost it's covering. He felt blood oozing from the bed, and he bit harshly down on his tongue in a futile effort to stop his own screaming. He bit down so hard that he put a hole in his tongue, and then he could taste the metallic feel of blood in his mouth as well as feeling it running down his finger.

With a meaty tear, the fingernail came free and Edward squeezed his eyes shut, screaming in his throat. Mustang laughed and Ed tried desperately again to shake him off, but to no avail, the man would not be dislodged.

Mustang grabbed another fingernail and started pulling, and the whole process of pain started up all over again, until, on the third nail, Edward passed out from the pain.

He woke up to loud sounds coming from above, shouting voices and what sounded like the clicking of guns. He heard two voices shouting above the rest.

Havoc.

And Hawkeye.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Riza Hawkeye was nervous as she boarded the first of three trucks, heading directly for the warehouse district, and, namely, warehouse number twelve, where Brosh had reported that the screaming was coming from. Hawkeye had immediately ordered her entire team to board the trucks and go straight to the site, despite rationality telling her that they should wait and try to figure out a definite way to counteract Mustang's fire alchemy. Her maternal instincts had kicked into overdrive the moment they had confirmed Edward's location, and now her entire focus was getting there and saving him from whatever torment Roy was putting him through.

It still hurt her to think about. That the man she loved, the kindhearted man who was always so devoted to his friends and to his country, could ever be doing what she knew he was doing to...anyone, let alone the youngest member of their group. She knew that Mustang had never really gotten along with Edward, never really actually liked him all that much, and vice versa, but Roy had always taken measures, sometimes extreme measures, to ensure that Edward was safe and healthy, and Alphonse as well. He had risked his life, his career, on hiding the brother's secret and getting them into the military so that they would have the necessary research material to be able to find a way to restore their bodies. Mustang had always been there for the boys, there to help them, which was what made the fact that all that apparently now meant nothing to the man, that was what made Riza so miserable and sick right now.

Her heart felt like it had been twisted a thousand times over into a great big knot, her stomach felt like she'd swallowed a stone and her stomach as trying to digest it. Her brain was pounding away behind her skull, like there was a giant tumor in there. God, she hoped there wasn't, a tumor was not another problem she needed to be added to her already overflowing pile of them.

Why did Mustang have to be putting her through this? Why was he going to so much trouble to send her to an early grave? He had told her he loved her, the day he'd gotten his eyesight back. Had he been lying? Was it all just a great big lie, was it all just one lie after another? Had he been doing what he'd been doing ever since Edward had joined the military? Why was he even doing it in the first place? What had caused him to do such a horrible thing? These questions and millions more swam through her head and to Hell if she knew the answers to any of them now.

The truck ran over a speed bump and she was momentarily floating in the air, until the truck returned to ground and gravity pushed her back down into the seat with a poomf. Water splashed around the wheels as the truck landed and flew into the back of the truck, splashing Riza in the face. She wiped her eyes and listened to the steady sound of heavy rain hitting the tarp that protected her from it, and then opened her eyes and watched it fall, watched it fall, the one constant in this terribly chaotic day.

Really, when she thought about it, it was such a good day for rain.

It matched everyone's moods; grey and soggy.

Maybe, with any luck, the confrontation with Mustang would occur outside, and he wouldn't be able to use the alchemy that the tattoo on Riza's back had taught him. Just at that moment, as she thought of it, the place on her back that Roy had burned began to itch, and she reached behind herself to scratch at it with her left hand. As she did, a thought occurred to her.

What if Roy had already used that alchemy to kill Edward?

Her stomach suddenly felt empty, despite the lunch she had eaten, which she now wanted to vomit back up. Her blood boiled at the thought and she had to rub her temples to stop the earth shattering pounding that had erupted there. Edward wouldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead; he was Edward. The boy was practically immortal, there was no way he would ever die, especially not at the hands of Roy Mustang. She refused to entertain such ridiculous thoughts any longer, so she locked them back away, at the very back of her mind, inside an impenetrable vault with a million golden locks.

Golden, like Edward's eyes.

The eyes that had always fascinated Riza. She had never been able to fathom how such glorious golden eyes could actually exist until she'd discovered about Edward's Xerxian ancestry, after the Promised Day was well and over, when she'd attended Van Hohenheim's funeral, and in the eulogy Edward had told his father's tale. Riza had had to excuse herself later that day, after the funeral had finished, so that she could quietly, in private, let down the tears that had been begging to fall since the beginning of the day, the same way she had after the funeral of Maes Hughes. Roy had come looking for her, of course, and he had not seen her tears because of his blindness, yet somehow the man still knew that she had been crying. She had tried to tell him that she hadn't, because it just wouldn't do for him to know that behind her mask of calm and reason there was weakness, but he wouldn't accept it. He had taken her into his arms and allowed her head to rest on his shoulder, where she had then continued to cry silently. She had known then that he was the kindest man she had ever met. Or, at least, she thought she knew. Now, she didn't know what was true and what was false now.

She hated not knowing, because she was trained to know everything. It was a part of military life, knowing everything you could so that you could do your job, whatever that job turned out to be. Not knowing the answers was ingrained into her very being to feel wrong. She needed to know, even if it killed her.

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Havoc took a long drag on his cigarette before tossing it out into the rain. It was a great stress reliever, but he couldn't afford to allow it to distract him now. He had a job to do, a kid to save. Edward, he had to save him, because he was just a kid. He was too young to die, and he was too close to Havoc for him to allow that to happen without one Hell of a fight. He was part of the team, part of the family, and you don't let family die on you, not when you can do something to help them.

Now that he'd gotten rid of the life-killer he loved so much, the entire weight of the situation was beginning to settle on him. The knot in his stomach that had temporarily gone away while he'd been dragging was back, and the headache had started to pound worse. He was worried about Edward, who could well be dead for all he knew. He was worried about Falman, who was reaching an age too old for this kind of stress. He was worried about Breda, who had recently developed stress lines on his forehead. He was worried for Fuery, who had actually had three minor breakdowns since the General and the Lieutenant's disappearance. But most of all, he was worried for Hawkeye. He knew she loved the man he currently loathed more than anything, and he knew that this was harder on her than it was on any of the rest of them combined. Like Breda, one or two stress lines of her own had etched themselves into her brow, her normally bright brown eyes had dulled. There were shadows under her eyes and she appeared to constantly have headaches. With that much going on on the outside, Havoc didn't want to even begin to imagine what kind of inner turmoil she must be experiencing.

The truck lurched forward in a sudden burst of speed and Havoc very nearly fell off of his seat. After a quick shouting match with the idiotic driver, he leaned back on the wall of the vehicle, exhausted before the battle-to-come had even begun. He massaged his temple and closed his eyes, and before he could stop himself, he was thinking about everything he had noticed about Edward since the beginning of the child's military term, and wanted to slap himself repeatedly for being so ignorant and inattentive as to not notice the very obvious. He wanted to knock himself out for not confronting the boy further. For not making him tell what was happening. But most of all, he cursed himself for chickening out under the General's cold gaze that day when he had tried to extract the truth from the bastard. He had known, deep inside what was happening to Ed, but he had not been willing to accept it as the truth, because he could not bare to think that the man he had followed and trusted for the majority of his life might do such a thing. So, at the very last second, he had changed his story, had not voiced his inner suspicions.

What made it worse was the fact that the story he had concocted seemed to make so much more sense than the hard reality, so he had allowed himself to be deceived by his own cowardice. He had convinced himself that the lie was the truth because he was too weak to face what he knew was right. And because of that mistake, that cowardice, Edward was in grave danger.

Havoc groaned, putting his head in his hands.

They arrived at the warehouse district all too soon, yet, at the same time, not soon enough.

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Distantly above him, Edward could hear the voices of Havoc and Hawkeye, mixed between the voices of countless other people. It was difficult to make out whose voice belonged to anyone Edward knew, due to the extreme amount of agony he was in. His head felt like it had been smashed repeatedly into a concrete wall, his body was both burning hot and completely numb all at the same time, and his eyes had to be nothing short of bloodshot. But it was his fingers that hurt the most. With three missing fingernails, just to twitch the finger so much as a half of a quarter of a millimeter seemed like the most painful movement in all the world. He could feel the steady ooze of blood slowly working it's way out from under his torn skin, and it reminded him of the sensation that had come over him when he'd lost his arm and his leg. The limbs had been forcefully ripped away from his entire being, and they had left wounds that he should not strictly have survived in their place. The pain had been indescribable, and that was how he felt right now, at this present moment, while he waited for...whatever it was he was waiting for. The only difference was that there was not as much blood this time. For that, at least, he was grateful.

He groaned as Mustang hauled him to his feet, crying out in pain as the weight was placed upon his broken ankle and mangled auto-mail. Mustang snarled at him, backhanded his face, and pressed him into the wall. Quickly, he pulled a piece of chalk from his uniform and sketched out a Transmutation Circle onto the cold wall, which he lightly brushed with his fingers before swiftly stealing them away. A crevice in the wall appeared, and from it, stone cords burst forth, wrapping themselves tightly around Edward's left wrist and pulling it, not gently, back into the wall above his head, where it froze, securing him. The cords dug painfully into his flesh and he gritted his teeth, trying his damnedest to ignore that incredible pain that was coursing throughout hid body, which was made twenty times worse by having to stand on his broken ankles. Without any further ado, Mustang began pounding his fists into ever part of Edward's body he could reach. Reflexively, Edward threw out his right arm in a desperate attempt to protect himself from Mustang's onslaught. Mustang quickly caught it between his wrist and elbow, and yanked inwards painfully, until the bones in Edward's arm snapped in half.

He fought to contain the scream that threatened to erupt from his lips, but was only partially successful. He was unable to avoid any less than a grunt. Mustang continued to beat him, and Edward was only barely aware of the fact that the voices above seemed to be drawing closer to them.

He closed his eyes, willing the pain away, willing everything away, willing away Mustang most of all. He knew he was not going to survive much longer unless he was sent to a hospital right away, but that wasn't very likely. He very much doubted that the voices he was hearing above him were actually there in the first place, he suspected that they were figments of his imagination. He knew that in his sleep-deprived state, it was more than possible for him to be hearing the voices he wanted to hear, but only in his head. Mustang obviously couldn't hear them or he would be focusing on keeping them away, instead of reducing Edward to a bloody pulp again. No, that must mean that they were only in Ed's head. He sighed mentally, feeling even more abandoned than he ever had at this new revelation.

Mustang kept beating him for what felt like an eternity, never stopping, and Edward was no longer able to ignore the pain. It flared up like a fire that had had oil poured onto it, and he could not stop the scream this time. It burst from his mouth without warning, the sound of it echoing through the room. He was only just barely aware of the fact that the voices in his head had ceased for a few moments after the scream, but then they started up again. They sounded anxious and determined at the same time. Edward's imagination obviously wanted to trick him into thinking it was all real, but he would not be fooled. He would not have his hopes raised up only to have them stomped back into the dirt. He would not.

"Something wrong, Fullmetal?" Mustang taunted, and Edward could hear the smug smile in his voice. Edward ignored him, choosing to instead recite the periodic table in his head, just for something to do, not that he hadn't already done it a thousand times before since he'd been trapped down here, but it was better than responding to Mustang's cruel jibes.

Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron...

"I asked you a question, Fullmetal, and I expect you to answer it." He said. Edward continued to ignore him.

Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen, Fluorine, Neon...

"Talk to me, Ed, what's troubling you?" Mustang said, his voice full of amusement.

Sodium, Magnesium, Aluminium, Silicon, Phosphorous...

Mustang slugged him hard in the face, and Edward's head snapped to the side, his head going fuzzy. Lights danced behind his eyes and it took him a moment to remember what element he was up to.

Phosphorous, Sulfur, Chlorine, Argon, Potassium...

"As your commanding officer, I am ordering you to speak." Mustang commanded. Edward paused in his reciting, mentally noting that he was up to Potassium, before opening the one eye he was able to open now, looking Mustang directly in the eyes, smiling, and saying:

"Go to Hell." He didn't even have time to close his single good eye before he felt pain shoot up his leg from his right foot. He bit a hole in his tongue in his effort to hold back the scream that tried to tear it's way out of his throat, because his ankle felt like it had been repeatedly stabbed with a sword. It took him several moments to collect his thoughts and realize that Mustang had kicked his broken ankle. He squeezed his eye shut and returned to his recital of elements.

Calcium, Scandium, Titanium, Vanadium, Chromium...

"Would you like to repeat that?" Mustang asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Manganese, Iron, Cobalt, Nickel, Copper, Zinc...

"Go. To. Hell." Edward repeated through his teeth. He felt Mustang's knee slam into his stomach, and the breath rushed out of his lungs, leaving him wheezing.

"Oh, I'm already going there, I don't need you to tell me." Mustang laughed.

"Good, you deserve it." Edward whispered, once he regained his breath.

Gallium, Germanium, Arsenic, Selenium, Bromine, Krypton...

"You really are a glutton for punishment, aren't you, Fullmetal?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that...I prefer to think of it as engaging in your verbal battles. I sure as Hell don't get the chance to engage in the physical ones." He replied.

Rubidium, Strontium, Yttrium, Zirconium...

Mustang grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled, and Edward grunted, trying to avoid yelling out as he felt the hairs being pulled from the roots. His head pounded double-time, and that feeling one gets when one's hair is pulled only made it worse. Over the pounding of his own brain he could no longer hear the voices that had tried to comfort him. Mustang finally let go and for a very brief moment there was relief.

Niobium, Molybdenum, Technetium, Ruthenium, Rhodium...

The moment passed as grabbed a fold of flesh from one of the many knife wounds he had inflicted upon Edward and pulled back the flap. As the tender flesh tore blood and pus oozed from the wound, and just one look at it became too much for Edward's sick stomach. He leaned his head as far is it would go towards Mustang's shoes and vomited, long and hard. Most of it stained the bastard's no-longer-shiny boots. By the time he was done emptying his guts of the disgusting food Mustang had given him two days ago, his throat was even more parched than it already had been, and he felt like he might just lay down and die. He gained satisfaction from the knowledge that Mustang very clearly have as strong a stomach as he'd thought, because the man had just run to the corner of the room and was vomiting up his own puddle of creamy-green yuckiness.

Good, hope you stomach vomits itself out of you mouth, bastard. He thought. Palladium, Silver, Cadmium, Indium, Tin, Antimony...

He sighed and rested his head back against the cool concrete, bathing in the probably short respite from the pain. Edward's right arm throbbed (more like burned) painfully from where Mustang had pulled at the knife wound, but as it wasn't currently immobile, like his left, he pressed the wound against the cool wall, ignoring the fact that the dust would definitely infect it even more but doing his best to somehow block the bleeding. And the cool of it helped the pain, just a little.

Tellurium, Iodine, Xenon, Cesium, Barium, Lanthanum...

"Havoc, open the trap-door!" Riza said in his head.

"Got it." Havoc replied. Edward smiled, his imagination sure was going to lengths to make him believe he was going to be rescued. He could almost even hear the trapdoor swinging open. For a moment he had to think about that...hadn't Mustang incinerated that door? Oh yeah, he'd transmuted another one afterwards.

At the same time Edward's mind made the sound of the trapdoor, Mustang stood up straight, wiped puke from his mouth, and made over to Ed. Without warning, he slammed a punch into Edward's black eye, and Edward couldn't help but cry out. Once again, the voices in his head quietened, but this time they did not return. Edward couldn't help but feel disappointing; even in his own imagination, his friends who were supposed to be saving him were repulsed and repelled by his pathetic weakness. Oh well. He thought sadly. Back to elements then, Cerium, Praseodymium, Neodymium, Promethium, Samarium...

The Flame Alchemist snapped his fingers and fire shot out to once again burn Ed's auto-mail. Edward shouted out his pain, clenching his fists as the white-hot metal seared into his skin.

Ignore the pain, Edward! He mentally screamed at himself. Ignore it! Elements! The elements! Europium! Gadolinium! Terbium! Dysprosium Holmium Erbium Thulium Ytterbium Lutetium Hafnium Tantalum Tungsten Rhenium Osmium Iridium Platinum Gold Mercury Thallium Lead Bismuth!

Mustang grabbed another handful of his hair and slammed his head into the wall four times in succession. The pain became agonizing but Edward refused to succumb to it!

Polonium Astatine Radon Francium Radium Actinium Thorium Protactinium Uranium Neptunium Plutonium! Americium Curium Berkelium Californium Einsteinium Fermium Mendelevium Nobelium!

Seven times Mustang rapidly punched him in the chest, and Edward swung his right arm around and clocked the bastard in the jaw. For a moment, Mustang was still, but then he stepped back, pulled back his right foot, and, with obvious force, he flung his foot forward straight into Edward's right knee. White stars burst in front of his eyes and his leg completely gave out. He slumped downwards, but was stopped abruptly halfway down by the manacle at his wrist, which caught at it harshly, and his entire weight pulling down on it in one big hit proved too much for his weakened bones, in with a loud and painful crack his wrist broke clean in two. He screamed behind his teeth, furiously in his head finishing off the last of the table of elements.

Lawrencium Rutherfordium Dubnium Seaborgium Bohrium Hassium Meitnerium! He let out a gasp of pained breath and froze at the sound of two guns clicking.

"Stop right there, Mustang!" Came the cold, harsh voice of Colonel Riza Hawkeye.

Edward couldn't believe his eyes! He hadn't just heard them in his head, they were actually here! He was then unable to contain his joy, and, with a sore throat, he whispered, "Hawkeye...Havoc..." But that was all he was able to manage. For a brief moment, both of their eyes flickered down to him, and he could see the sudden revulsion that appeared in their eyes. His smile dropped. They were disgusted by him, he could see it.

Ed hung his head, and blocked out of his mind everything that followed, hating himself.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Riza had to swallow back bile when she finally got a good look at Edward. The first thing she noticed was the enormous black eye that had swelled up so badly that it was basically glued shut. His normally bright golden hair, which was so usually tied in either a ponytail or a braid, hung loose around his shoulders, but it was no longer as vibrant as it once was. It was now no more than a dull, dirty yellow colour, knotted and tangled beyond saving. Then she noticed everything else. He was wearing nothing but a pain of black pants, and his tanned skin had become pale form obvious lack of sunlight. That was, at least, the small patches of skin that weren't coloured with bruises. They were covering the majority of what she could see, and it made her sick to her stomach because she knew it it was Mustang that had done this to the boy she considered to be her son. He was also covered in furious burns, ranging from small to huge. Her heart swelled,, they must have been so painful.

The puss-y knife wounds made her want to throw up, as she trailed her eyes over the dozens that latticed his arms and stomach. She realized that his flesh ankle was broken, and so was the auto-mail one. As her eyes traveled slowly up the steel leg, she saw that the auto-mail had been burned and melted up at the top, and she nearly cried when she saw the silvery steel that had melted itself onto Edward's flesh. She was gonna kill Roy, Goddamn protocol or procedure, she was going to murder the bastard.

Through her peripheral vision, she could see Havoc's hands shaking where he was holding the gun, which he had pointed directly at Mustang's head, the same place she had pointed hers at. She felt unbelievably calm, and her own hands were not shaking the way Havoc's were. She narrowed her eyes as Mustang lifted his hands in the air, slowly turning around. When he did, she could see the manic grin that was plastered across his face. She heard Havoc growl beside her, and she tightened her grip on the gun. One bullet, that's all it would take. One single bullet and the bastard would never be able to hurt Ed again. But first...

"Why?" She whispered. "Why would you do it?"

If it were even possible, Mustang's grin grew even wider, his pupils dilating and then shrinking despite the lack of good light in the room. It was as if he were high, but she knew he wasn't. He started laughing, Riza had to restrain herself from putting a bullet through his foot. Or, even better, his face.

"Why you ask?" He burst out suddenly. "Well, the answer is simple, the answers are always simple, as Maes used to say."

"What the Hell is wrong with you, General?" Havoc yelled. "What the Hell is your excuse for beating up Edward?"

"Don't call him General, Havoc." Hawkeye said quietly. "I've just dishonorably discharged him."

"I'm afraid, dear Riza, that you have neither the authority nor the rank to do that." Mustang laughed.

"Don't you dare call me 'dear'! You lost the right to do that the moment you first laid your damn hands on him!" She shouted.

"Well, then." Mustang said, a smirk in his voice. "I guess I never had the right in the first place, did I?"

It took a few moments for Riza to process this information. When she finally did, her heart dropped into her stomach. Her head swam, and for a moment she lost her balance, feeling as though she was going to faint. Quickly she moved her left foot to keep herself upright, and she had to blink back tears.

"You've been hurting him that long?" She said, her voice barely even audible, and she was surprised that Mustang had actually heard her.

"Hahahahaha! Not actually. The whole thing began shortly after I got my sight back. His seventeenth birthday, to be precise." He laughed.

"You bastard!" She shouted.

"You seem to be in agreement with Edward." He said, his eyes darting to the slumping child behind him. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction at his horrible work, and Riza's fingers involuntarily twitched. The loud bang echoed through the small room, and the next thing Riza knew Mustang was on his knees, clutching his bleeding foot, grunting.

But somehow still smiling.

"Damn, Hawkeye, and here I thought you were in love with me. That wasn't very nice, you know." He said as he got to his feet, apaprently ignoring the hole in his foot.

"Shut up! What the Hell is wrong with you? Why have you been hurting Ed? Tell me, or the next bullet goes through your stomach!" She cried.

"All right, I'll tell you. You wanna know why?" He paused. "I do it, because I can."

BANG!

Havoc's rifle let out steam following the shot, and Riza watched as Mustang's hand began to spill blood at a rapid pace. Mustang laughed and put his bleeding hand on Edward's face, smearing blood down it like paint. Havoc screamed at him to get away, but he ignored them both.

"Mustang..." Riza said quietly, making her final decision.

"Yes?" He replied.

"When I first came under your command, you told me you had a path to follow, and that you were trusting me to help you follow that path. You also said, that if you ever strayed from that path, then you were trusting me to shoot you in the back." Realization dawned on Mustang's face as she continued, and Riza's eyes filled with tears. Her heart was pounding a million kilometers and hour in her chest, her blood had run cold. Her legs were trembling, but not her arms, nor her hands. She was too well trained for those to be affected. She could taste blood in her mouth, though she wasn't aware of why. "You've strayed from the path you set yourself, Roy Mustang. But I can't keep my promise. I can't shoot you in the back. SO YOUR HEAD WILL HAVE TO DO!" As her fingers pulled the trigger that sent the bullet into Roy's head, she screamed, much like she had the day she had thought Lust had killed him, she screamed.

And then everything went in slow motion.

As the bullet whizzed towards the bastard's head, through her peripheral vision she saw Havoc flinch from surprise, and, involuntarily, his fingers squeezed his own trigger. As her bullet drew closer to Mustang's skull, Havoc's flew right behind it, and as hers punctured it's target, Havoc's flew right past Mustang. It ricocheted off the wall behind him on an angle, and went to the wall to Mustang's side. Mustang, already dead, was beginning to drop. Dread filled Riza as she saw the path of Havoc's bullet before it took it.

It bounced off the wall and headed towards Mustang. It was going to hit him in the eye, but he was falling too fast, the bullet was moving faster, it was flying through the air and Riza watched it, screaming, as it flew half an inch over Mustang's head-

-and hit Edward, dead center in the chest.

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Riza was screaming, rushing over to Edward, trying to stop the bleeding, but Havoc couldn't move. His legs were frozen, his body paralyzed. His brain was not able to process what he had just done. He couldn't comprehend why Riza was screaming and crying, why Mustang was dead on the floor, but most of all, he couldn't understand why was Edward bleeding? Why was all that blood pouring from his chest, like a waterfall? Why was he still, unmoving? Why did his gun smell like he had just fired a round?

Why had he just fired a round?

He looked across the room, and on two of the walls he could see black spots, the mark of a ricocheted bullet. Why was that? He didn't remember firing. He didn't remember...

firing the gun...

But he had fired it...he knew he had now. And the memories of the past minute flooded back to him in a wave. He remembered Riza screaming, firing her gun. He remembered flinching from shock, accidentally pulling his own trigger. But he had been aiming at Mustang, so why did it go past him? When he'd flinched he'd jumped to the side. His bullet had bounced off the walls, and it had just missed Mustang as he fell and it had hit...

...Edward.

Oh God, EDWARD!

His feet began to moved of their own accord, heading Hell-for-leather towards Riza and Edward, the rifle falling from his hands. He was barely aware of the fact that the rest of his team had begun to creep down into the basement, acting against strict orders. He was barely aware of the fact that he had just jumped over Mustang's dead body, still leaking blood from the bullet-hole in his Goddamn head, barely aware of the manic grin the still plastered the dead man's face. All he was aware of was the massive amount of blood pouring from Edward's chest.

"NO! NO! NOOO!" Riza was screaming. She had already pulled off her military jacket and balled it up, and was now shoving it roughly over the bullet-hole in Ed's chest, in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. Havoc could see already that it was too late. That Edward was already dead. That he had been dead since the bullet had touched him. Despite knowing this already, he placed two fingers on the side of Edward's neck, under the chin, right where his pulse should be. He found nothing, not even the weakest little flutter.

Edward was gone.

And he was not coming back.

Tears sprang in his eyes and he could not stop them. It wasn't fair, none of this was fair, dammit! It wasn't fair that Edward Elric, the former Fullmetal Alchemist, could be dead! It just wasn't possible! How could it have come to be? WHY DID HE HAVE TO BE DEAD, GODDAMMIT! HE WAS ONLY SEVENTEEN, WHY THE HELL WAS HE DEAD? He was in a state of denial, and, by the looks of it, Riza's own state of denial was far worse than his own. She was still screaming for him, while Havoc could not find it in him to utter a single word.

He had done this. It was all his fault. He had fired the round that had killed Edward. It was all his fault. All his fault...all his fault.

As the rest of the team took in what happened, and rushed to their side, all Jean Havoc could think about was that he was the one who had snuffed out Edward's life forever.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Winry was not able to concentrate on the eulogy the priest was giving. All she could do was run in her head, over and over again, what she was barely able to believe. Edward is dead. Edward is dead. Why is my Edward dead? She felt numb all over, like she'd been frozen inside a block of ice and then tossed into the depths of the ocean. She could not stop shaking, and every now and then a great sob would wrack her chest. She felt like her entire world had come crashing down, and she didn't know how to deal with it, especially not after that great miracle she had discovered shortly before being informed of his death. I can't believe he's really gone. I can't believe he'll never know, that they'll never meet. She glanced to her right and saw Alphonse almost collapse, and Mai quickly catching him in her arms and holding him. She ought not feel jealous, she should not, yet, she did, because Alphonse had someone to help him pick up the pieces broken in him by Edward's death. Winry had no one; Al was in no fit state to help himself, let alone her, and Granny had left this world already as well.

As she looked past Al, she could see Riza crying silently, Havoc gripping her hand fiercely in his, his eyes bloodshot and red, as if he had been crying too. Winry could understand why. She knew that he had been the one to pull the trigger that had ended her fiance's life, but she did not hate the man. He had not meant to to it. It had been an accident, it had never meant to happen. Although, from the medical report the doctor's had given her after his autopsy, it was obvious he would not have likely have lived much longer anyway. It had been a kindness, she told herself. Though he hadn't meant to, Havoc had saved Edward from a slower, more painful death at the worst, a coma he would never wake from at best. This was better. He had never even felt the bullet touch him. He'd been dead before he could have. At least that was something.

No, she couldn't hate Havoc for this, though she knew he hated himself for it. Who she hated was Roy Mustang. Mustang, the man she had always trusted, the man she had always counted on to keep Edward safe, had, long before the end, had been the one who had ultimately sent Edward to his deathbed. He was the one who had spent months beating Ed, threatening him with his own past in order to keep him quiet. He was the one who had forced their separation, who had forced him into his own home just to have more access. He was the one who had kidnapped Ed for the sole purpose of torturing him, he who had beaten and tortured him to the point of almost death. Winry hated the man, and she loved Riza for being the one to put a bullet through his head and end his miserable existence.

She hoped the bastard burned in Hell for what he did.

She became aware that the eulogy had finished, and she brought her eyes to the casket as they began to lower it into the ground. On top of it was the green banner of the military. Despite no longer serving it, everyone had agreed that Edward deserved the honor of being buried under it. Everyone was silent as he was covered in dirt. Everyone except young Elicia, who clung to her mother's side, bawling, as her big brother was lost to her, just as her daddy was. Hearing the child cry made Winry cry even harder herself, though no one could hear her. She imagined this would be how her own child would cry when she told him or her the story of the father they never got to meet, when they were old enough. She touched her tummy, which was not yet big enough to hint at anyone that she was carrying Edward's child. She didn't intend to tell anyone. Except Riza, who was the only one who knew. Her, and Winry's friends at Rush Valley, of course. Riza had been the only person Winry could bring herself to confide in after the news of Ed's death. She had planned to make it a big surprise for everyone, when she had been summoned back to Central a week ago. But now, nobody could ever know.

Riza only knew because she was the only one who had been in the room with Winry at the time Winry had been informed. And as she had cried, it had just...slipped out. Winry made Riza swear never to tell another soul, and she had agreed, not quite understanding why but never questioning Winry's reasons. Winry appreciated that.

It felt like an eternity before there was no more dirt to hide away Edward forever, but, all too soon, there was. Soon after, people began to trickle away. First Havoc, who couldn't seem to get away quick enough, quickly followed by the rest of Riza's team. Riza herself moved to stand by Winry's side, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Gracia and Elicia left then, followed by the rest of the military personnel who had attended, including Fuhrer Grumman himself. Soon the only people left were Edward's closest friends and family; Emperor Ling, Lan Fan, surprisingly enough, Scar, Paninya, Maria Ross, Mai, Alphonse, Riza and herself. For a long time, nobody spoke, just stared at the headstone that was the only marker of Edward's existence now. To the shock of them all, it was Scar who broke the silence.

"Edward, I am sorry we parted in this fashion. I hope you find peace where you are now, and I am confident God has welcomed you into his arms. If anyone were ever more worthy of God's love, it would be you." He said, and, without another word, he turned around and left the Resembool cemetery. Nobody even noticed.

Next it was Paninya who spoke. "Ed, I never really knew you for all that long, but...just know that I'm sorry for stealing from you, and I thank you once again for helping Winry deliver my Goddaughter." She left after that as well, most likely heading back to Rush Valley. Winry barely noticed her leaving either.

"Edward, you were the bravest young man I've ever met." Said Maria quietly. "There are no words to express my gratitude in knowing you." Winry didn't even look her way when she spoke, and nor did she turn her head when she left.

Next to speak was Lan Fan. "Edward, if it weren't for you, I never would have known about auto-mail limbs, and when I lost my arm, I never would have know there was a way to replace it, and protect the Emperor. So I thank you, for that." She said, but she did not leave. She stayed right by Ling's side, as he spoke.

"If it weren't for you, Edward, I would never have found the Philosopher's Stone that saved my clan. I would never have been able to rise to the throne and I would never have been able to protect both my clan and Mai's. It just wouldn't have been possible. For that, I thank you, my good friend." Ling bowed to his grave, lower than an Emperor ever should, and slowly turned away, taking Lan Fan with him.

"I could never have become such good friends with Ling that he would protect my clan without you, Edward." Mai said, her voice cracking. "And I never would have met Alphonse had I not searched for you first. There are no words I can say that will ever be enough, but I guess I have to make do with the simplest words of all. Thank you, Edward. Thank you." She sobbed, clutching Alphonse's arm tightly, burying her face in his chest. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

"Goodbye, Ed." Riza said, breaking the long silence that followed Mai's speech. "Goodbye, but not forever, surely. I do not know what lies beyond here, I do not know where you have gone, but I know I will see you there one day, Edward. I know I will. And Edward...I'm so, so sorry for not protecting you the way I should have. You were nothing less than a son to me, and I couldn't protect you. I am so sorry." Silent tears slid down her cheeks, and she gave Winry one last hug before departing, hugging herself tightly, as though she were china that might break.

Winry did not have it in her to give a speech, and apparently neither did Alphonse, because for a long, long time afterwards, there was complete and utter silence. Not even the wind dared interrupt it, and Winry hated it. How dare the day be so perfect on a day so tragic? The sun was shining brilliantly, as it lowered slowly back down below the hills as time went on. Winry realized that this day matched perfectly to her dream, one she had had months ago. Here she was, standing beside the grave of Trisha Elric. Beside it on the right was the grave of her husband, Van Hohenheim, and to it's left was Edward's, the grave she stood directly in front of now. Just like her dream, it read simply: Edward 'Fullmetal' Elric, 1899 - 1915. In front of his headstone were dozens of bunches of flowers, all as beautiful as he had been. Even as in the dream, her subconscious was making noises that resembled a ringing telephone, but Winry pushed that to the back of her mind. The sun had begun to set completely now, and Mai finally managed to coax Alphonse into leaving. Winry suspected that they would head back to Xing, but she was wrong. They turned left at the road instead of right, and headed towards Winry's house. They would probably wait there for her, and it was too bad that it would be in vain. Unconsciously, she touched her tummy again, and she realized the subtle differences between her dream and reality.

The first difference was that Mustang would never be dropping by, because he was dead. And neither would Hawkeye.

The second difference was that in reality, she could not find it in her to fall to her knees and break down crying like she had.

The third was that she had no intentions of committing suicide this time.

The fourth and most important difference was the baby she carried. He had not existed in the dream. Winry knew the child would be a boy, through some parental instinct she just knew that the child would be born and he would be a boy. She knew he would have beautiful golden hair rivaled only by his golden eyes, and she knew his name would be Maes. Because that was what Edward had wanted, a son named Maes. So Maes it was going to be.  
\------------------------------------------------------------  
Mustang was hot, hot all over. He was burning, his skin was burning, he was on fire! He opened his eyes, and shouted, as he discovered he was waist deep in flames. He was floating, in midair, though it could hardly be called that, because there was nowhere for him to be stuck between. There was no sky nor ground, no left nor right. There was no top, no bottom, just empty space that was burning. He was surrounded by fire that burned everywhere, the only visible colour was the orange and the red of it's flames. The flame had no beginning, but at least it seemed to have an end. Which happened to be at his waist. He screamed as the fire turned his blue military uniform to ash, and screamed as it blackened his skin, and screamed at the pain that enveloped him, and the scream echoed off of the empty space so that the sound was the only sound that could be heard, other than the roaring flames.

He tried to figure out where he was, tried to figure out what was happening to him, tried to figure out why! He had no memory of anything other than this fire that engulfed him. He had no memory of how he had come to be here. He continued to scream as the flames rose from his waist to his chest, and the skin there turned black as well. He became aware of a sticky wetness that was flowing continuously down his face, and when he touched it he found that there was a hole in his skull, in the exact middle of his forehead. It was leaking a continuous stream of blood. As he screamed new screams rose from below him, completely engulfing his sense of hearing, and he closed his eyes and clamped his hands over his ears to block out the ear-splitting noise but it made not a scrap of difference, if anything, it only made the noise louder an more painful. He shouted aloud again and threw his eyes open, looking down to see what had made the sound.

Below were thousands upon thousands of people, people who seemed utterly unaffected by the fire, yet people who screamed cries of agony anyway. These people were a range of ages, from newborn infants to the wizened old elderly. They were all naked, all the babies and the little boys and the little girls and the women and the men, and not a single one of them had a face, save for a pair of glorious red eyes that contrasted with their tan skin and white hair. Despite the lack of mouths possessed by these mysterious people, they all seemed to be screaming in agony.

Slowly, memories of his life returned to him, in brief flashes, but it took a hundred years of pain and confusion for them to surface. The flashes were of a desert land, of a war. In these flashes there was always screaming, and he was always the one causing it. He would snap his fingers, and fire would shoot from their tips, and he would incinerate hundreds of people at a time. After three hundred years of screaming, pain and memories, he was completely black, completely engulfed in flames, and only now was he able to begin piecing those memories together to form a pattern, to form a story. But it was only just the beginning of a story, and he could never ever seem to find the pieces where he was a happy man doing good things, only the parts of the puzzle that were bad revealed themselves to him. Only the parts where he did terrible things to people, terrible thing like killing and burning the red-eyed people, the people he would never know because in his memories no one ever had faces, just eyes, the parts where he remembered torturing the golden eyed boy who, also, owned no face to call his own, the parts where he felt like he was the most miserable man on the face of existence, only then did he know who he truly was.

A monster, a monster who deserved the Hell he had been allotted.

But as soon as he was able to realize this fact, over a thousand years after he had first awakened in this place, he forgot. He forgot everything he had remembered, everything he had realized, he forgot everything he had ever known about himself except for his name, but after a thousand years living in the fiery pits of Hell, what was one supposed to do with one's name anyway?

And this process repeated itself for the rest of time. Pain, fire, screaming. Remember the reasons, forget them again, and then spend another thousand years in pain trying to discover who you were, only to forget again as soon as you realized.

This was Roy Mustang's punishment for his crimes.

This was Hell.  
\------------------------------------------------------------  
Edward was standing outside his front door.

He blinked. How could he be standing in front of his front door, when his front door had been burned to the ground, along with the rest of the house? It took a moment, but soon enough the memories that he had momentarily forgotten flooded back to him. He remembered his human life, all the rights and wrongs he had done, all the rights and wrongs that were done to him, and he remembered leaving the world suddenly, not understanding why, until he had been told by Truth it had been Havoc's doing. But Edward did not blame Havoc, not at all. Truth had smiled at him after explaining, but not the cold smile Edward had always associated with it. The smile had been genuine, and then he had gone through the Gate. As he had passed through, a he had seen, in the distance, a golden being of light, in the shape of a man. As he had drew closer to this man, the golden arms belonging to him had wrapped themselves around Edward, and he had been overcome with warmth. A nice, pleasant warmth that made him understand that everything was okay, and everything would be forever. He had known then that all his life he had been wrong. God was real, and God loved him and God forgave him for his sins.

And now he was here, in front of his door.

He hesitated, unsure of what he was supposed to do now that he was here. For a moment he looked around, and, from what he could tell, he was in Resembool. It certainly looked like Resembool, but there was a brightness to it that the real place hadn't had. It seemed so much more...cheery. As he looked he saw the big tree that had always stood outside the house, and, hanging from it, the swing that Hohenheim had fixed before he had left them. The grass was the brightest green and the sky the purest blue, the sun shining and warm on his face, partially blocked out by the house that stood in front of him. Everything seemed so perfect that it could only be...

He raised his fist and knocked three times on the door, and, after the shortest moment, it opened and he was face to face with his mother. His mother that he had not seen since he was a little child. The mother he had once that he had killed a second time after her premature death. Her beautiful eyes were still the exact shape of gum-leaf green they had always been, her long brown hair still tied in a loose ponytail that hung over her shoulder. As always, she wore a purple dress that flowed to her knees, and a white apron to protect it. Her radiant smile made him melt inside, and, before he could do anything, she opened her arms wide, and he found himself rushing into them, wrapping his own arms around her and holding her tight, as though she might promptly disappear on him.

"Mum." He whispered, his voice cracking.

"It's okay, Edward, I'm here." She said, her voice gentle as it always had been when she had been alive.

"I can't believe it...mum!" He murmured.

"There there, Edward, there there." She whispered, pulling him forwards into the house. Once they were in, she shut the door. "I've missed you Edward, it's good to see you again."

"I've missed you too!" He said, looking up. "But, where are we? Are we in Heaven?" Just asking the question made him feel unbelievably foolish, especially considering he had never been one to believe in God or Heaven, but, after what he had just experienced, and what he was experiencing now, it could only by that. His mother did not laugh at his foolish question, only continued to smile up at him. Imagine that, Edward Elric, finally taller than his mother!

"Yes, honey, we are. You came too soon." She said, her smile faltering. "I'm so, so sorry about everything you had to endure, Ed."

Edward was unable to respond for a moment. So am I, is what he wanted to say, but somehow he didn't think it was the right thing to say. What he said instead was: "It's over now."

"Yes, honey, it is. Come here." And she pulled him into another hug. In that moment, in his mother's loving arms once more, for the first time since he was just a small child, Edward felt like it just couldn't get any better.

As usual, he was wrong.

"Honey, what's happening?" A voice called from the kitchen, and, as both Edward and Trisha looked up, Hohenheim walked around the corner, saw them, and froze. He was dressed in his usual attire of pristine white shirt and green tie, black vest, brown trench coat and black pants. His golden hair was tied back in a ponytail at the back of his head and his glassed gleamed in the light from the window beside him, making it impossible to see his eyes. He looked shocked. "Ed?" He said finally. Edward found that, for the first time in his life, at least, that he could remember, he didn't have to put on a fake smile for the man. Because it was genuine.

"Hey, dad." He said.

Hohenheim moved his head, and the gleam from his glasses was gone. Edward could see into the man's eyes, golden, like his, and he could see that he was sad. "Oh Ed." He said, his voice low, and then he was moving forward towards him, and Edward was aware of Trisha letting go of him and then Hohenheim had his arms wrapped around him and Edward's head still only just reached his father's goddamn chin but that didn't matter because for the first time in his memory his father was hugging him! Completely taken aback, Edward could only relax in his father's arms and rest his head against him.

"Hey, dad." He said again.

After the family's reunion, Trisha had cooked lunch and they had all sat down at the dinner table and eaten a truly lovely meal. Edward wouldn't have thought that a person needed food in Heaven, and he was right, but that didn't mean that they couldn't eat delicious food, apparently. Over lunch, Trisha and, Hohenheim explained to Edward everything there was to know about living in Heaven. After that, they talked on and on into the night about everything that they'd done since their separation. Edward told Trisha about everything that had happened after her funeral, Ed and Al deciding to bring her back to life, going to Dublith, training with Izumi Curtis, the failed Transmutation, the quest for the Philosopher's Stone, everything. And when they had finished, Edward went to bed, closed his eyes, and watched Winry's life go by.


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes the form of a written letter.  
> Why, 2015 me? Why?

Dear Riza Hawkeye,

Before I say anything else, I'm sorry I haven't spoken to you before now. It's been a long five years without you, but somehow, I've managed. The last time I saw you was at Edward's funeral. How have you been since then? How has everyone been? You're the first person outside where I currently am that I have spoken too since the funeral, so I'm sadly lacking any kind of knowledge about my family and my friends. Once again, I'm sorry about that. When I found out Edward was dead, it was like the world had suddenly died. I'm not sure how it was for you, but for me, that is the only way to summarize how I felt. It was agony living through the next few weeks until the funeral, having to be around everyone who felt just as depressed as I did, if not less some. A few days before it finally came, I bought a train ticket, and as soon as I could bring myself to leave his graveside, I left Resembool, and to this day I have not returned, not even to visit my late fiance. I have not been able to bring myself to do it, for the same reason as I have not been able to find it in myself to contact any of you before now.

The train ticket I bought put me on a one way trip to Lior, the only place I could think of where I knew someone who would understand my pain completely, because she too had experienced that very same pain. When you next see Alphonse, you should ask him about Rose. He'll tell you more about her, but, in short, she lost her fiance in a train accident shortly before Ed and Al visited the town. She would know how I feel, I thought then, so this is where I came. I am still here, and I have to ask you not to come after me, please. Tell Alphonse where I am, if you so wish it, but if you do, please, I beg of you, tell him not to come after me. I'm not ready to face him quite yet, in fact, as I write this letter, I'm still not entirely certain I'm even ready to send this to you.

Anyway, when I got here, Rose didn't know of Edward's death, and it was a few days before I could finally say the words out loud to her, but even before I was able to, I think she probably knew anyway, from the look on my face. I know this not because she has told me as much, but because I could hear the whisperings of the townspeople when I arrived. The look on her face, they would say, she looks just like Rose did when her fiance died. So they probably all knew Ed was dead before I could tell them as well. But Rose took me into her home, and she gave me food to eat and clothes to wear and a place to sleep. I was -and am still- so grateful to her. She has helped me so much these past five years, and I owe her my sanity and my life.

I remained unfailingly depressed for quite a long time, despite all of Rose's (and the other people of Lior's) efforts to cheer me up. It was like I was trapped in some sort of black abyss, I couldn't stomach any food, so I went days at a time without eating, until Rose would have to force feed me like a child. I was afraid to sleep, because whenever I did nightmares of Edward would terrorize me. They still haunt me every now and then, but they aren't happening every night anymore, thank God.

Everything changed when my son was born, though. Six months after arriving in Lior and Rose had to rush me to the hospital, because my water had broke and I knew I didn't have long to go. We arrived just in time, and Rose held my hand all through it while the baby came out. When he was finally free, and the doctors told me he was a boy, I laughed and clutched onto him, crying. I had always known he would be a boy -mother's intuition, I suppose, but still, to know that in my hands I held an almost exact copy of my Edward, it was incredible. It was like the sun had finally risen again after being gone for so long. My baby had the same golden hair, the same golden eyes, even his face is like Edward's in miniature form. Rose asked me if his name would be Edward, after the father he will never get to know, but I shook my head. Edward and I once discussed baby's names, and though he tried to swerve his way around it for a while, I know that he wanted a son called Maes. So that's what he is. Maes. Maes Edward. I know in my heart that's what Ed would have wanted it to be, and, though I would have named him Edward had Ed not wanted it to be Maes, I know that while it is also very selfish of me to think of my own desires over that of my late fiance's, I also fear, now, that had I gone ahead and named him after Ed, it would be too painful for me to call his name without thinking of his father.

Maes is almost five now, and I have begun to notice a few subtle differences between him and Ed. His hair is the smallest shade lighter than his was, and his eyes are a lot rounder than his, much like mine, actually, though they remain the same unfailingly gold sparkle as his. Maes has already shown an interest in alchemy, thanks to the local library books he stumbled across a few months ago. He's just the alchemy prodigy his father was, but he does however lack the enthusiasm Edward always showed towards reading. He'd much rather just figure it out as he goes than read about it in a book, but that's okay, already he's far ahead of the other children his age as far as academic achievement goes. He's actually skipped through preschool and starts first grade in a few weeks, so no complaint there! I do fear that that might make him the subject of bullying from the other children who may be jealous of his genius, but, like Ed, he can stand up for himself no problem, he should be able to take it, and maybe even dish it back a little where necessary. He's a good kid, and I'm proud of him.

I think I'm going to wait until he's at least twelve before I tell him about how his father died. I want him to be at an age where he can understand the world and how it works before I tell him everything his dad went through, because I want him to understand that sometimes there are things more important than just sticking up for yourself, sometimes you have to endure pain to protect others, and that's what Ed did, and I want Maes to be able to understand that so that he will be able to forgive his dad for dying.

Maes is right now tugging on my pant-sleeve asking me why Mummy is crying, and I have told him that I'm not crying, I got onion juice in my eye when I made lunch earlier. I'm certain he doesn't believe me, but one of the amazing things about Maes is that he doesn't pry too hard over things he knows are not his place to pry, such as the times when Mummy cries. Normally he gives me a cuddle, or, as of right now, because the chair and the table make cuddling difficult, he pulls another chair beside mine and pets my shoulder. It's incredibly cute, and I think he knows it helps.

Something Maes occasionally does is ask if we can travel somewhere, and usually I answer with 'when we have enough money, we will.' The truth is, I actually have managed to raise more than sufficient money these past five years, building auto-mail for all those people here who lost their limbs in the Insurrection many years back. I've almost outfitted everyone who needs it, and I'm currently working on an arm for a young girl a year or two younger than me who lost hers when a building collapsed over her. In any case, I have enough money, but I fear that if I leave my net of safety I run the risk of running into someone I don't want to run into, such as Al or Mai or anyone, really. But, I suppose the risk is fairly small, it is a very big country after all, and, with some thought that I have been putting into it, I've decided that sometime soon I might perhaps take Maes over to Milos and visit Julia. You remember Julia, don't you? Julia Crichton? She lost her leg as part of Equivalent Exchange when she brought her brother back from the brink of death, and was given a prosthetic limb to replace it, however that limb was not auto-mail. I was thinking that perhaps I might get to know her a bit better, and maybe, if she desires it, I could build her an auto-mail leg. But I'm still not sure...do you think it's a good idea? Is it safe there? I don't want to take my five years old son to somewhere unsafe, after all.

Congratulations on making Lieutenant General, by the way! I heard on the radio that you and your team are getting ever closer to fully restoring Ishval, and I'm glad that after everything that's happened to them, the Ishvalans are finally reunited with their Holy Land. Do you know how Scar is doing? As much as I hate him for murdering my parents, he still turned out to be a very good person, in the end, and I wish him no ill will after all he did to help Edward save Amestris from the Homunculi.

Also, how is Captain Ross? I'm not sure if she's been promoted in all this time...I hope so. If and when you next see her, please give her my hopes that she is well and has healed after the fire that day, and tell her that despite the scar the fire gave me, and despite my half-sight, never once have I regretted saving her from that fire. I'm not sure if I've ever actually told her...

Well...I can't really think of anything else to write to you...apart from I'm sorry that I haven't tried to contact you earlier, and I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me, and to write back...

Ah, yes. Could you please deliver some flowers to Edward's grave for me? I haven't visited him once since his burial and I don't want him to get lonely. I'm not sure whether or not you have already visited him, or whether or not Al has or Mai has or anyone has. I know Rose has, though. She has left town a few times specifically to do that. She asked me if I would join her, but as of yet i am unable to bring myself to see the reminder of the death of Ed. I just can't do it. Sorry if it's an inconvenience for you, but I truly would appreciate it.

I can't think of anything else, so I think I'll end this letter here. I have enclosed a picture of Maes and myself that Rose took of us a few weeks ago of me sitting on the cobblestone road beside the sand dunes, with Maes standing next to me. I thought you might like to see what Maes looks like for yourself.

Lot's of love,

Winry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that's the end of my 2015 writing monstrosity.  
> Hahaha.... *dies*


End file.
